


Absolution

by TheLadyFrost



Series: Absolution Chambers [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Multiple Endings, Multiple Pairings, Shameless Smut, chambers - Freeform, raw emotion, some out of character behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 117,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost/pseuds/TheLadyFrost
Summary: This is the story of a moody, broody, broken man looking for his purpose. It's AU and taken from the interpretation of our hero in his darkest form via Vendetta. It's a lot of love and emotion and a little adventure. If you aren't into angst or darkness or some good old fashioned smut, this may not be where the wind blows you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When we meet Leon Kennedy in 6, he's almost broken. He's a lost man on the edge of what he believes, struggling to fight on in a world that keeps defeating him.
> 
> In Vendetta, he's a shell. A hollowed out carcass of a man with no more hope. He's lost so many pieces that he's almost numb. A hero? A shadow. 
> 
> This story follows him through multiple chances for his life to turn around. It's all the things that sometimes happen when we aren't looking - love, life, loss. It's all here. It's all waiting...for a little faith.

DISCLAIMER::::

I don't own Resident Evil. I don't own the rights to any of it. I do, however, have my own imagination. And I use it frequently to play in other people's universes. I enjoy it. I enjoy where it takes me. I do it, primarily, to see what Capcom doesn't show us: the human aspect of their one-dimensional character creations. I like to think we fanfiction writers give them a little depth, a little attitude, a little…life.

With that said, enjoy the story. And let me know if you do or don't. I like to hear all opinions.

Cheers.

-The Lady Frost

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::ONE::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

In Vino Veritas

"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything." – Mark Twain

Silver Lake, Montana

Rocking Horse Ranch, 2017

The dim light of morning was the only light in the room. It spread its skillful touch over his skin, gilding it, forcing the sprinkle of hair on his chest to appear to glitter blonde and bright in the rising sun. The fire of the coming day encircled him, casting a halo of red to the once dark gold of his hair. There was little denying that he was nearly perfect in his splendor, the pale prince, the handsome hero, the blonde and blue eyed Adonis that would slay the dragon and save the world.

He'd saved the world; more than once in fact. He'd stood on the precipice of death and spit in her face while he taunted her. He'd gone toe to toe with the devil and emerged the unchallenged victor. He was untouchable, a dubious force of nature that had never known failure and knew no equal. He was a veritable god.

And he was alone.

He was nearly forty, single, and lived by the moment with little more than a thought to what came next. He was often, when not saving the world, half in the bottle erasing the things he'd done, and seen, and lived with the comforting wash of expensive booze. He was a functioning alcoholic, a WASP of substantive breeding, from a long line of distinguished men with a family name that commanded respect and adoration.

And sometimes, long after the world was peacefully sleeping safe once more in her unknowing bed, he would stand a top his tower of gold built on self-sacrifice and dedication and loss and he would despair. He might have liked, once, to have children. He might have liked to have a wife and been the coach of his son's baseball team and driven car pool with other harried parents. What would life look like on the other side of a job he might have had? The once wet behind the ears rookie would have been a detective and then possibly police chief. He would have sat behind a desk and gotten a pot belly and grown gray at the temples and watched his grand kids from his porch.

All those years ago, before Raccoon City, there'd been a girl. A sweet, soft, shy girl he'd loved in high school and thought he'd marry. Maggie. Maggie Summers. He thought of her sometimes as he sat alone on the rooftop of his loft beside his shimmering pool with a bottle of Glen Mckenna beside him. Or others like now, when he lay amongst the sheets of his palatial family estate in the mostly untouched wilds of Montana. Maggie Summers with her beautiful round face and sparkling blue eyes.

He'd been in Virginia visiting his parents the last time he'd seen her. They'd hugged, smiled, and she'd had two little toe headed children with her; happily married to a boy she'd met in college after he'd failed to call her back. She held no grudges. She even regarded him fondly. They'd been kids, after all, and look what life had brought her! He was happy for her. The ache that centered somewhere inside of him had blended with a thousand others until it had become part of the numbness that often pervaded.

For him, there was no one. Not a series of women. It had never been his style to love em and leave em. So he courted no one, dated no one, slept with no one. It was a safer that way, protected, it insulated him from having to bear the truth to someone and have them turn away. It protected him from what came after the truth was exposed. It protected him from the pain that came with the rejection.

He was still a man. He still wanted. He still longed. He still ached with needs. He just used his hard won discipline to survive it, to channel it into other things, to become faster, stronger, smarter. He'd trained in various forms of martial arts, in the ability to control and regulate himself like a machine; he'd fallen, broken, abused, and tortured himself all in the name of the cause. He was as close to a finely tuned machine as one could possibly be.

He shifted, feeling the softness that only Pretasi sheets could provide, and his hand slid over the perfectly taut and honed definition of his stomach. It brushed at the top of his thigh across the springy hair there and skimmed close to the core of his body; a tease. Yet… yet, even this he did not do. He didn't touch himself. He wanted to, often, the price of a denial that was decades long but the pain on the other side of it kept him chaste. For even in the self-release there was pain and emptiness.

The backs of his fingers skimmed the semi-rigged length of himself; he shivered. And in that moment he pictured her. He pictured her face, her body, the heave and shift of her bosom. He pictured her smirk and the red, red, red of her lips.

Her lips.

Her lips.

The flash of memory smashed into him like an unwanted punch. It was vivid and rich and nearly tangible. He didn't just picture it, he felt it, smelled it, and lived it. The torture of it nearly stole his breath.

He yearned…and he remembered.

Yōuhuì, China

Southern Province, 2013

He slept for nearly twenty four hours after they'd fled Tatchi and landed safely back near Shanghai. The debriefing had taken hours and he'd spent countless restless minutes explaining and explaining and regurgitating every single event that had transpired between the death of the president and the spread of the infection in Tatchi. Simmons involvement, the cover up, the importance of the cloning, the significance of Wesker's son, it had all needed rehashed repeatedly until he thought he might go blind from being without sleep for nearly four days.

They'd finally let them go sometime in the middle of the night and dropped he and Helena unceremoniously on the door step of the Mandarin Oriental in Yōuhuì. He'd exited the elevator and entered the penthouse suite afraid he'd drop where he stood, aching, shaking, starving and exhausted. He'd eaten three pieces of fruit in a record ten seconds and another while standing under the blasting, burning, furious jets of the shower. The water and the soap and the scrubbing took away the dirt, he watched it wash down the drain in gray and black rivers. But it couldn't take away the memories.

He couldn't wash away the moment he'd chosen to shoot his commander in chief, the most powerful man in the world, and his longtime friend in head. He couldn't erase the faces of the infected and the smell of death and rot and the screams of the dying. He couldn't erase the taste of fear and bile that rose at the things he'd done, seen, felt.

His fist struck the marbled shower wall and was followed by his forehead that pressed, slid, as the scalding water turned his greasy, matted, black hair blonde once more. His fingers tunneled through it, pushing it back from his face. He inhaled, sharply, and again before he stepped from the shower, washed, but never clean.

He toweled his face dry and tossed it carelessly over the back of a bar stool as he walked naked up the stairs to the bed on the dais in the center of the penthouse. The entire left wall was nothing but windows, showing the glittering, brilliant, unsullied Chinese skyline. He had barely climbed onto the bed and glanced at the clock beside it to register the time: 3:00 am, the witching hour, before he passed unceremoniously into sleep.

He slept dreamlessly the first twelve hours. His body literally shut down and stayed down, rebooting, and repairing itself to a minimal level of functional ability. The next twelve were plagued with occasionally snippets of dreams and snatches of memories. Faces, voices, screams, moans, groans, pants and promises whispered in darkened corridors. Helena…Helena had touched him, touched him, and her eyes had-

It was the shift in the universe that roused him. He was, after all, a well-honed machine and even in sleep he was still formidable. He rolled, even as he roused, and the gun was pointed and securely aimed before he was even fully awake. The face it was aimed at, in the semi darkness, was wryly amused. Those red, red, red lips were pursed in a smirk.

"Don't miss."

Her voice was whisper soft but somehow loud in the silent room. His eyes made sense of the time: 3:00 am, the witching hour. Had he slept at all? Or an entire day? He couldn't remember. It wasn't really relevant when one was staring down the barrel of the Desert Eagle at her.

What surprised both of them was that he hadn't yet lowered the gun.

"What do you want, Ada?"

Ada. Ada Wong. Ada…Wong. He could hear it, say it, feel it a thousand times and it wouldn't change that name. Ada Wong. He hated her. He detested the idea of her. She was his nemesis, his greatest enemy, his greatest weakness. Ada Wong.

He craved her.

Love? He wasn't sure it was love. Love was a soft word. A sweet word. A kind and generous and life long word. Love. It seemed so weak and wimpy for this. This. This…obsession. This horrible, hungry, feral and beast like teeth in soul that she had on him. This…need.

He CRAVED her.

"You could start by lowering the gun."

He met her look squarely. "Start talking."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Leon." Now she sounded amused. "Yet."

Leon remained nearly statue still. "What do you want, Ada?"

With a long suffering sigh, she leaned away from the wall where she'd been patiently perched. Although he wasn't sure perch was the right word, of course, for a woman like Ada. She was tall, especially for someone who was half Chinese, possibly an inch shorter than his own 5'10" when she wasn't wearing heels. She'd left her heels, respectfully, near the door as she'd entered. Or perhaps it was a calculated move to possibly just to avoid the sound she'd have made crossing marble in stilettos. She was tall, willowy, built slim and smooth and strong like a runner with a finely honed physique that was lithe and muscled in all the right places. She was a LADY and built like a siren, taunting him with small and high breasts and lean, lascivious curves.

She wore her signature red, in a long silhouette of dress that sported skimpy little spaghetti strings and a plunging, tasteful, but dangerously suggestive gathered neck. It shifted around her like silk as she moved. He kept the gun on her.

He was fairly sure neither of them quite knew why.

Or hell…maybe they both knew exactly why.

"You stood over me."

He met her face equally now. There was something in her eyes he had never really seen before. He wanted to call it vulnerability. But Ada was never, ever vulnerable. Sly. Smart. Vindictive. But never vulnerable.

"What?"

"You stood over me. You could have let Simmons have me. But you stood over."

She was about four feet away now.

"You could have been rid of me; finally. Why?"

He watched the play of light across her face in the darkness. The only light to join them was that which was cast from the skyline behind the open windows at his back. The shadows shifted with their movements.

And he said nothing for a long moment.

"Why are you here, Ada?"

She was nearly to him now. The barrel of the gun brushed against her shoulder as drew closer, too close. The panic in his gut was very real and almost painful.

"Why did you help me?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Say it."

The panic had teeth now. Sharp, ugly, awful little teeth that were chewing up his guts with their mindless gnawing. He shook his head, just slightly. But who or what was he denying? He didn't even know anymore.

"Why did you help me, Leon?"

"I couldn't let you die."

"Why?"

The shadows made her nearly ethereal in her beauty. Her lips moved, curved around each word like she would make love to the language. She tortured him in the semi-darkness with that face. That face that had launched a thousand ships. She was his Helen of Troy; his curse. He'd saved her because of that face and the way it had haunted his dreams for nearly twenty years.

"What you know could save millions of lives. We needed you alive."

She cocked her head to the side, wryly. The ebony of her hair had indigo highlights in the darkness, shimmering like the surface of the water at the darkest, deepest, heart of the ocean. He knew it would feel like silk in his hands and smelled of orchids and jasmine and exotic temptation. He could smell it now, faint, tantalizing, tempting him to gather her to him and take them both into the darkness to drown in each other.

"Liar." The word bled hot and wet between them, a dare, a challenge. Liar, she'd whispered, and she was right. He lied. And they both knew it.

"Simmons is done. The project, his baby, it's done. You have all the information you need, I made sure of that. What's your excuse now?"

"Was it you, Ada, that Chris was after?"

And now she held his gaze, equally, and long. "No. You know that. Not even I can be in two places at once. You know that."

"If you weren't there in Edonia when all of his men died, where were you?"

Ada studied him, they stared at each other in the flickering shadows and he knew and she knew that the answer to that question was dark, deep, and fathomless. So she avoided the question. "The day is saved. The bad guys are gone. You emerge, once more, the victor. Why not do it now? Why not put me down, like a rabid dog, before I do something else I shouldn't?" And her smile was wicked and sexy and taunting in the darkness. "Why not stop me before I'm a bad girl again?"

She shifted in closer and the gun was now pressing against her chest, just between her breasts. She lifted a hand and circled it around the barrel, holding it against her.

"Why can't you just pull the trigger now? End me and save us both."

He could taste his own heart. It beat thick, fast, and full in his throat. It tasted of blood and greed and lust and latent need so hard and fast he thought he might choke and die from it. His voice was low, gravelly, too carefully empty when he answered in nearly a whisper, "From what?"

She jerked on the gun as she rotated, pulling him forward at the same time. Her other hand caught at the back of his neck and pulled him in toward her. Surprise more than anything had him failing to resist as she pushed his arm out, locked the elbow, and divested him of his weapon. And he found himself looking at the other end of his own gun.

It was somewhat mortifying to know he'd just been outwitted by her. But it wouldn't be the last time and it certainly wasn't the first.

He stared at her in surprise for a handful of seconds.

Ada tilted her head, quirked an eyebrow up at him, and lifted a corner of her mouth. "Don't you want it back?"

"I don't have time for these kinds of games, Ada."

She tilted her head again, curious and amused. "Life is nothing but games, Leon. You just think you're too squeaky clean to have to play them. We're playing one right now."

He watched her as they slowly started to circle each other, the cat and the mouse although he'd never be sure which was which. It was a dance they'd begun and continued many times over the years.

"I don't like games. You still haven't told me what you want, Ada. Tell me. And then slip away into the darkness like you always do. We both know you will once you get what you want from me."

She actually seemed somewhat surprised by this response. She stopped circling and met his eyes squarely, "You want me to go?"

"That's the idea."

"You don't want me here?"

"Does it look like I want you here?"

Bad choice of words. Her eyes traveled over his naked body, lingering, appreciative, and almost overtly molesting in nature. They hovered at the very clear, very painful evidence to the contrary.

He refused to be embarrassed by it. He was a man. He got wood sometimes. That's it. That's all the mention it needed.

Ada rolled the gun over in her hand and offered it to him butt first. "Ok. Go ahead. Take it."

He knew this would lead to a grapple between them, knew it because he'd played this particular game with her before. Yet he had to TRY to take the proffered weapon, only a fool leaves the gun in his opponents waiting hands.

Leon reached out a hand for it and she stepped into him as he did. Surprised, he bobbled the exchange and the gun tumbled, forgotten, to the floor with a metallic thump. He lifted his hands to her shoulders to stop her from getting too close and she slid her hand around his throbbing erection. The shock of it echoed down in his back like a lightning bolt and out of his mouth in a gasp. It was like taking the lid off a boiling pot. He felt the wrap of her fingers around him like white hot band bands of desire so painfully bright, hot, and burning that he might die from it.

Her left hand slid around the back of his neck and anchored her thumb beside his ear and she held him to her. Her right hand milked him, skillful, sinful. She rolled his aching flesh in her palm in a dangerous game, tugging almost playfully at his need until it was a roaring, rushing, hungry beast beneath his flesh.

She couldn't have known, really, how long he'd been denied. She couldn't have known that he'd ALWAYS denied. She couldn't have known that he'd never, ever, had a woman touch him before. Not once. Not even close. Not in all his years on Earth. What would she have said if she'd have known that Leon Kennedy, savior of mankind, the president's right hand, was a VIRGIN?

His hands dug into her shoulders. He should have shoved her away but he couldn't. He simply couldn't. His breath came fast, frightened; he could feel the panic shift to an almost detrimental degree. The pressure in his loins was unbelievable.

Ada smiled, slyly at whatever was written across his face. "Why did you save me, Leon?"

What? He brain. His brain was a mess. Lost. Confused.

"God." He gritted it out between his teeth. "Ada."

And now Ada laughed, darkly, and leaned in against him until her mouth was nearly on his to whisper, "Yes. We can often be one in the same. Tell me why. Say it."

He thought he might die, might die right there on the spot. His hands shifted and his thumbs brushed those tiny spaghetti strings on her dress. And he couldn't, shouldn't, didn't want to play games anymore. And he didn't know what he might feel later, didn't know what might happen, but he knew one thing: he CRAVED her.

On a ragged breath, he gave her an answer.

But it probably wasn't the one she'd wanted to hear. "Because I'm in love with you."

The surprise danced across her face. What had she expected? Likely some great conspiracy. She probably thought he'd been paid to keep her alive for some greater purpose, some grand scheme. She'd spent too long as the right hand of the megalomaniac Albert Wesker. She didn't know how to not be part of some diabolic doomsday plot.

Leon surged against her now, startling them both with it. Her hand slid off of him and landed on his bare hip. He took them both backward until her back bumped against the wall. And her hand slid over that hip and around, landing on his perfectly honed ass. Her nails raked a little and brought his breath in a ragged pant.

He pushed against her until he feel the softness of her body on his throbbing erection and rubbed himself there, like some pervert, like some mindless thing, on the silk of her dress. His mouth brushed over hers, once, twice. "Is that what you wanted, Ada? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He wouldn't let her look away. Their eyes held, entrapped by each other. He watched a series of things go across her face and had names for none of them. His right hand moved off her should and across her chest, his fingers delved under the plunging neck of her dress and across the pretty mound of her cleavage.

Her voice was soft and smooth. "I don't like liars, Leon"

His tongue traced the line of her satiny lips. "That's funny, Ada. Because you're the greatest liar I've ever met."

She met his eyes, squarely. "Let me go."

His fingers delved lower into her cleavage. His mouth nibbled now at her lips. "You don't want me to let you go." He sounded vaguely like a rapist. It was alarming for a man so carefully bred and in control of himself.

"Yes. I do." She sounded so sure of herself.

He almost let her go…and she shivered. Just slightly. She shivered and his delving fingers slid under the edge of the lacy cup of strapless bra…and found one tight, turgid, pointy little nipple waiting there. He watched her face when his fingers skimmed it, felt her body tighten, heard her sigh and shiver. And he was so well trained, so well in tune to the human response because of it, that he knew…he knew.

He went very, very still for a moment. And then he pressed his mouth to hers and whispered, "Yeah…liar."

He caught her gasp in his mouth as he kissed her. His tongue plunged in, merciless, and hers surged against it like a rabid thing. Her nails raked up his back and snaked into his hair to hold him to her. His shoved at her dress until it pooled at her waist and then stopped, anchored there by the press of his body so tightly against her. He couldn't stop kissing her, didn't want to, wasn't sure how to stop.

When they finally came up for air, his mouth dropped and feasted on the cleavage so beautifully displayed in her fancy black bustier. His hands slid up her back and undid the clasp, freeing the bounty of her breasts to his waiting mouth. Her hands gripped his face, grabbed his shoulders, tried to find something to hold on to while he devoured her.

He left whisker burns and teeth marks all over her delicate skin but it just seemed to spur her forward. She shimmied out of the dress and let it fall between them, a puddle of red silk and sighs. He lifted her, in nothing but tiny black panties, and she curled around him like a monkey as they moved and tumbled together atop the tossled bed.

Leon felt the boil of blood beneath his skin, a dangerous game they'd been playing for so long. A dangerous game that had nearly cost them both their lives more than once and would probably cost them both their sanity. He should stop them, stop this, stop all of it before it cost them both everything they had.

But those red, red, red lips settled on his and he couldn't think of anything but the taste of her. The thrill of her. The greed and need and wanton want that burgeoned and blustered and bled like a burst artery inside of him for her. He rolled her to her back and hook his hands into her panties. They were lacey and tiny and flimsy. If he tore them away there would be nothing anymore to stop him.

He set his teeth against them and her, watched her bow, and gasp and blur. He slid his tongue along the edge of them and slid them to one side to see the heat and heart of her. He traced the moist line of her with his finger and then his tongue and rolled the taste of her across his mouth like an aphrodisiac. He parted her with his thumbs and licked smooth, wet, slow lines across her waiting heat in a torturous tease for them both. The ache in his groin was nearly blinding as he slid one finger into the wet of her and teased her with his mouth at the same time.

He was on autopilot now. He was inside his own filthy fantasy. He simply did the things he'd thought of a thousand times since he'd met her in that dirty parking lot in Raccoon City all those years ago. He'd stood there covered in dark and muck and dinge and wanted her, even then, always since.

He felt her clench, tighten, gasp, and watched the orgasm that over took her. It was wickedly fast and wonderful to see. He felt her body clench around his plunging fingers now and tasted her release on his tongue as she came. Impossibly turned on, he slid her panties back across her body and ground his tossled head against her stomach in frustration.

She rolled shuddered beneath him and shifted, rolling him until she was atop him. Her hands traced, nails raking gently down the muscles of his chest and stomach. He watched the appreciation and lust that sparked in her eyes and craved her even more.

His hands gathered at her hips and he thrust himself against her, feeling the satiny, lacey panties that barred his path. They brushed over his aching cock like a tease, offering but never coming across. He was fifteen again about making out in the back seat of his father's Cadillac.

Ada shifted and lifted, sliding her panties down those long, long, long thighs. He grabbed her hands, shook his head, hard. How could he tell? Should he tell her? Would it matter? Could it matter?

She smiled, beguilingly, likely thinking it was some great game he was playing. Her fingers encircled him, milking his body. He free hand cupping him, rolling his aching glands between those artful fingers. His vision bisected, his body bowed up into her touch. He might have said something, cursed, or muttered, or yelled.

His eyes were closed and the golden edge of the orgasm was so close he could almost taste it. The power of that release, so long unanswered, so long denied would like kill him. It was almost comic. To have survived what he'd survived and die from releasing the worlds longest case of blue balls.

He couldn't, shouldn't, but couldn't stop himself. He rolled her beneath him and thrust himself against her damp panties. Once, twice, three times he rubbed himself over her, over her, desperately, deeply wanted to shove himself inside of her and didn't. The tatters and shreds of her self control were all that kept him from pushing her panties to the side and pounding himself into her with a careless greed that would ruin them both.

He thrust himself against her, a mindless rutting beast, a fool and the shame of his hunger for her penetrated the foggy haze of his desire and doused it in great buckets of ice water. He stilled above her, panting, holding her there beneath him to watch the shift and shiver of that desire still dancing across her beautiful face. And it wasn't a lie, hadn't been a lie, was never a lie: he was desperately in love with her. It wasn't a soft word after all, it was the hardest word of all. And he couldn't do it, he couldn't move those panties and push himself inside of her. Wouldn't. When he knew she'd never feel the same.

Her eyes drifted open; her face was soft and unpretentious in the aftermath of their desire for each other. There was nothing calculating on her face now, nothing scheming. She looked like a woman well sated and young in a way that he had never seen her before. What might she have been like, he wondered, without Albert Wesker to have guided her to the darkness?

She brushed her damp panties against his still steely erection," Leon…"

He shook his head, slow and pressed his forehead to hers on a damp, painful sigh. She stayed very still now beneath him, sensing the game had been pushed too far. The silence pervaded for a long, pregnant moment before he leaned back to meet her eyes again.

She saw something on his face that caused her to lift her hands and draw him to her. The kiss was smooth and soft. "Leon," She traced his eyebrows with her fingers, "I had orders…"

Her voice trailed off. He tilted his head, watching her. "What?"

She seemed to struggle with whatever demons were urging her to silence herself. And finally, she said, "I had orders…in Raccoon City. Orders to get the virus. Orders to eliminate anyone who might compromise the situation."

He met her eyes and they both went very, very still now.

"I couldn't kill you either." She whispered it, softly.

He gripped her wrists, held her. "Why?"

She met his eyes in the darkness. "You know why."

"Say it."

And there was real regret now on her face. And something else. There was something that had no name. Something deeper and wider and darker than regret. She pulled him against her and kissed him, wet now, and hotter.

He should have felt the moment she did it, put the needle to him and pressed the plunger, he should have felt it. But the world drifted and shifted, rolled, his vision shook and shimmered as she rolled away to stand. He lifted a heavy, rapidly weakening hand at her.

"Damn you…Ada…."

Her fingers brushed through his hair and that regret was so strong on her face that it tortured him. "I'm sorry, Leon…for everything."

He watched her pick up his phone from where it lay on the nightstand beside the bed and copy the data to her own. "I'm so sorry."

It was the last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him once more.

He'd awoken alone amongst the blood red sheets.

Silver Lake, Montana

Rocking Horse Ranch, 2017

She'd been gone when he'd come out of the sedative she'd given him. Of course. And a single napkin on the pillow beside him with a butterfly and a red kiss. It had all been a game to her. Another ploy to get under his skin and torture him. Well she'd won. Clearly.

She'd come out the victor of that particular battle.

She'd walked into the room and nearly stolen his virginity, his sanity, and somehow his heart. He was still trying them back. So he did nothing, did no one, fought the good fight and stayed home. He frequented enough events to satisfy the social climbing of his father and put enough women on his arm in public to keep the gossip mongers from making accusations about his sexuality. Not that he cared. Let them say he was gay. They'd likely prefer that over the truth.

He was hung up on a spy who was also a traitor to the US government.

It was almost laughable.

If it wasn't so pitiful.

He rose and went to the bathroom. The harsh light spilled onto his face and showed what the complimentary cast of the sun had missed: age. He was getting old.

He'd woken up one morning, sometime after a mission had failed, and he'd lost all of his men…and then subsequently had to go down into the morgue to dispose of them with a few quick bullets between their dead, dead eyes, and he'd had enough. He'd stared at his perfect blonde hair and his perfect face and spit, watching it slide down the mirror in front of him like a stain on all that beauty.

He'd colored his hair black and stopped shaving. The results were a bit shocking on the once Aryan face. It made his blue eyes darker, cast a shadow on his pale skin. The gruff beginnings of a beard made him look meaner, sharper, darker. He'd traded in his Armani and his Prada for a good leather jacket and a few different t-shirts.

And he'd disappeared off the radar. He'd take nearly six months off now. He'd escaped New York, escaped D.C., and come out west to lick his wounds. He didn't want to be bothered by any of it again. Didn't want to wake up to another world ending disaster that needed a hero. He wanted to be left the fuck alone.

He wanted to drink as much as he wanted and wallow and be a miserable baby and cry into his pillow and be left alone. And he couldn't do that surrounded by people that gave a rats ass. So he'd retreated out here. He was fairly sure only a handful of people knew his family owned this estate. He'd bought it off his father some years back as an investment. It was run in absentia by a nice couple and some ranch hands.

He came out here when the drag was too much and the time was too much and he needed, desperately, to breathe. He'd cowboy it up for a few weeks, help birth some calves, ride some horses, sheer some sheep. He'd stop being Leon Kennedy, which was starting to sound more like James Bond then he liked, and just be Mr. Scott, clearly an alias using his middle name, the owner of the ranch.

No one gave a good god damn about saving the world where he was. They still yelled for his help cleaning up horse shit in the stall. It was humbling. And he was grateful for it.

He speared his hands through his dark hair and brushed his teeth, washing away last night's whiskey with the scent of mint. He dressed quickly in jeans and red plaid flannel over a white undershirt, chuckling a little to himself at having become a "man of the mountain" literally. He slipped his feet into steel toed boots and headed out of the bedroom.

The lodge was huge. It was a massive nine bedroom, nine bathroom affair log cabin with over sixteen thousand square feet encompassing three living areas, two kitchens, and thirteen fireplaces. The back deck boasted a ten person hot tub over looking the river that snaked along the property. The theme was rustic but modern with cathedral ceilings and exposed beam work. Just beyond the main lodge was a series of guest cottages for the ranch hands and a carriage house, four barns, and a private series of lakes over the five hundred acres that encompassed the property.

He'd purchased it for almost seventeen million dollars when his father had gotten bored of it. The money was nothing really for the peace of mind that came with it. It turned out giving up a wife and children and a normal life came with the added perk of making you rich. Who said there was no money to be made being the good guy?

The good guy.

The mission where his team had died had been a kill mission. They'd been sent in to eradicate a terrorist threat in Spain. They'd infiltrated a compound and been set to eliminate the threat from guards to workers to scientists. But someone had squealed. Someone had squealed to the wrong side. They were ambushed.

The ambush was ugly, awful and ultimately ended in a blood bath that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He'd watched in horror as faces were blown away by burst of gunfire, as arms and legs were ripped off and friends, buddies, pals, were ripped to shreds still screaming. He'd lain, trembling, on a floor covered in the blood of all his friends when the cavalry had come to the rescue; the last survivor, saved only by cowardice that had kept him hidden beneath the corpses of the fallen.

He'd done what he could for those who'd died beside him. He'd gone down into that morgue and put their bodies to rest. He'd look down into the eyes of people he'd known and pulled the trigger on their reanimated corpses. He'd given them peace in death they'd never known in life.

The good guy.

He was the executioner.

He was the harbinger of death.

He was the end of everything normal and good and hopeful.

He emerged out onto the deck of the lodge, watching the shifting light of the coming dawn on the peaceful, untouched horizon. When would the fighting stop, he wondered? When would he be able to put down his sword and rest? The warrior was weary.

The rumbling of arrival in the distance told him today was not that day. He would see no rest today. And he'd been found in his private sanctuary.

From out of the pristine Hummer that rolled up the rocky drive to the lodge, a small dark girl alighted. She was accompanied from the driver's side by a tall, iron haired man in full combat gear. The girl was familiar and he'd actually been in her presence very recently in fact.

He leaned on the railing of the deck and watched her move toward the lodge. Her pixie face was suitably impressed. Hard to blame her, it was a breathtaking sight to behold beneath the dawning Montana sky. It took him a moment to realize she was actually looking at him.

He wasn't actually aware of it, but he was smiling.

"Rebecca Chambers."

Her elfish beauty was natural and inherent. She had no makeup on, needed none, and managed to look youthful and serene. Nary a line could be seen on her porcelain skin even though her bio told him she was somewhere in her mid-thirties now. He'd seen her last when she and Chris Redfield had come hunting him up for help on a bio-terrorist threat concerning the reintroduction of the Las Plagas virus. He'd nearly died in the three days he'd spent saving the world…again. And come away from that adventure with a broken collar bone, a fractured clavicle, and a ten inch scar from sternum to groin where something big and nasty had attempted to gut him.

Rebecca wore a soft brown leather jacket over fashionable jeans and dove gray boots. Her short hair was styled classically to highlight her high cheekbones and youthful face. She met his eyes and grinned.

"You look like a kid who's waiting to get smacked for raiding the cookie jar."

He laughed a little, charmed by her terrible sense of humor. Once, he'd been the same. The bad jokes of his, the puns, they were legendary. Where had his sense of humor gone? Dead, likely, along with his fashion sense.

He leaned on one elbow, studying her. "You don't ever bring good news, Rebecca. So I'm waiting for the shoe to drop."

She smiled again and shrugged. "Maybe it's a social call."

He turned his gaze to the man waiting by the car. "He your daddy then? Or your driver?"

Rebecca sighed and gestured to the house. "Let's go inside."

"You want to bring your daddy?"

She laughed. "He's fine right there."

They went inside and she spent a long moment staring at the palatial beauty of it. He offered her a cup of coffee and they sat down at the fireplace in the main lobby. It was floor to ceiling hand laid stone.

Rebecca studied him as they sipped, biding her time before she divulged the person of the visit. She'd known him the least of the all the survivors she'd come across since Raccoon City. And , additionally, found him the hardest to know.

He was quiet, somewhat broody, and mysterious. He kept to himself. He wasn't social by any means. He often times avoided interaction with others until necessary. He was, by turns, charming and funny or dark and foreboding. He was also possibly the most amazing person she'd ever seen in a fight.

She'd seen Chris fight. Brute strength and rigorous training and until she'd seen Leon, she hadn't ever really thought about the ART behind the fighting. The motion. The movement. The nearly musical truth of it. Fighting wasn't just something he did, it was something he embodied. He was smooth, graceful, fast, and technically perfect. His individual parts were all part of a greater whole. He was flawless in execution and nearly beautiful to watch. Like poetry in motion.

He moved with a precision and patience that spoke of years of continuous perfection. Where he found the time or the drive to perfect it, she'd never know. But she'd watched him, half dead on that rooftop, and had still thought he was breathtaking. Needless to say she was a little enamored of him. It was to be expected, she'd been so of Chris all those years ago in Raccoon City. He'd never known, or if he'd known, he'd always been so careful to avoid making her embarrassed about it.

Leon would likely have smiled politely himself if she'd gushed her adoration at him like some love sick school girl. She smiled now at him again as she attempted to gather her thoughts.

"I've been tracking the movements of the last of Aria's crew, Maria Gomez. She was last seen attempting to book passage north to elude capture." Rebecca set her cup down on the table before her. "I think I've found her. I've been scouring all the sites, checking field cams, dash cams, traffic cams, using algorithms to help trace anything related to her. Speech patterns, key words or phrases, altered facial features. I had nothing…until a week ago."

Getting a little excited now, she scooted a bit closer to him on the couch where they sat. She didn't see him tense up slightly. She continued, animated now, "There was some chatter on a police radio in Nain."

He lifted a brow at her.

"It's a remote settlement in Canada. It's nearly inaccessible most of the year and the only way to reach it is to fly into the Happy Valley –Goose Bay that is close by. There's really nothing there. It's as remote as you can get short of heading to Siberia. But they have local cops…and those cops are noticing things."

She shifted a little closer and her knee brushed his. "Some of the townsfolk are disappearing. It's pretty noticeable in a small town. They usually come back but the chatter keeps referring to them as different. It's mostly French which is my least favorite language. But they keep referencing sending them to see the new town doctor. Dr. Dubois."

And she shifted a little closer now and even grabbed his hand in her excitement. "It's her. I know it! I can feel it in my guts. I need you to come with me and hunt her down."

Leon didn't even think she was aware that she'd shifted so close that the line of her leg was against his from hip to knee. He didn't think she knew that she'd been holding his hand while she talked. He didn't think she knew that she was probably the first person to touch him in years. He wondered what she'd say if he told her.

"Where's Chris?" He queried and he could have taken his hand back, but he didn't.

"Louisiana. Intel took him down there in search of missing agents thought dead from three years ago. He rushed down there to see how much truth was in it. I don't think we should wait for him to get back. I contacted Jill but she's in deep cover somewhere in the Sudan."

"So you're telling me I'm your last resort?"

Rebecca smiled wryly, a little sheepishly, "Help me Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope?"

And he laughed. He couldn't not laugh at her. The strange part was that it felt ok to laugh. He'd been afraid, for awhile, that he couldn't laugh anymore. It turned out he could, and it felt pretty good to do it.

"Ok." He rose and released her hand in doing so. Strange that he felt a little sad to lose the simple human contact. "Give me a few minutes to get ready."

"Really?!" She bounced to her feet, thrilled, "Are you serious? I was positive you were going to say no."

"No faith in me huh?" He moved down the hallway to first bedroom, Rebecca hot on his heels, "Can't say I blame you. I haven't always given the best impression."

He unbuttoned the plaid shirt as he moved and tossed it on the bed in the master bedroom. In his undershirt and the jeans, he moved to the closet.

Rebecca watched him move, even now still graceful. He looked amazing in his white undershirt, it molded itself like a second skin to his perfectly defined abs and chest. The slight suggestion of hair beneath the shirt was just dark enough to give an impression at the belly button and across the pecs. She didn't realize it but she'd started chewing her fingernail like she often did when she was nervous.

He emerged from the closet with a big duffel bag that he began loading with various things. He beckoned her into the closet with a crook of one finger and she followed, still nervous to be this close to him. He'd laid his hand on an exposed plate and the back wall shifted, opening to reveal what may have been the biggest arsenal of weapons she'd seen outside of an action movie.

Wide mouthed, she watched as he selected several from various areas within the hidden room. It took her a moment to realize he was asking her a question. "I'm sorry, what?"

He smiled a little. "Pick what you're comfortable with from in here."

"I haven't used a gun in years."

He stared at her, blinked, and stared again.

"Ok." He put his fingers under the undershirt and whipped it over his head. She was pretty sure her brain fell out of her ass at the sight of him half naked walking toward her. Why? What? Uh? Who? She wasn't sure what was about to happen but she was thinking, what the hell? Why not? Wait…wasn't there some reason she was here? Sex? No not sex. But wait what?

And he passed right by her.

Her lungs screamed as air rushed back in. She realized that she'd forgotten to breathe in those moments when he was moving toward her.

She turned, and nearly cried, as he slipped on a black under armour moisture wicking shirt and strapped himself into his shoulder holster. He pulled a black leather jacket from a hanger and slid it on over his holster. "Let's go sunshine, you're about to get a crash course in remembering how to handle a weapon."

He handed her a basic Beretta, butt first. She immediately checked the safety and secured the chamber. Nodding approval, he led her out of the closet and through the sliding glass doors off the back of the bedroom.

The great Montana sky had turned gold and orange now in the coming dawn. The walk was brisk but he seemed unconcerned at the chill in the air as he led them across the land to the outdoor training area he'd had constructed. And, again, Rebecca was impressed.

It was hallowed out vehicles and makeshift buildings constructed to resemble a war zone. There were bullet holes in everything from the moving or stationary targets, to the doors that barred ones path, to the vehicles themselves. He'd clearly spent hours upon hours here making sure his dead aim remained…dead.

She chuckled at her own internal humor.

"You ever really relax, Leon?"

He met her eyes, droll, "No. Do you?"

Something moved across her face now and flitted away. "Yes. A good book, a glass of wine with girlfriends, a movie. You know…life?"

There was nothing to say he understood on his face. There was nothing there but a hollowness that had something dark and lonely at the bottom of it. He had beautiful, husky blue eyes and they were ringed in dark circles above cheekbones carved sharply in that handsome face. She hadn't realized it before, so lost in the gorgeous perfection of that face, but he the hero looked exhausted. No…the hero looked haunted.

Rebecca wasn't sure when she decided to try to take some of that pain out of his eyes, but she knew she was going to bring a little color back to his pale cheeks and try, somehow, to take some of the pain out of those eyes. Leon, she silently wondered, when was the last time you really slept?

He put her through her paces, that much was true. He paced her, pushed, used quiet commands and encouragement and tough love when she needed it. He yelled, he signaled, he had her learning the language of his command. She learned how he signaled, how he moved, she found herself trying to copy him, imitate his resolve, his skill. He watched her, guided her, corrected and complimented her desire.

At one point, she rolled around the hood of the hollowed out VW Bug in the center of the compound he'd created and he was there already, surprising her. The slap he delivered to her hands was not gentle, it knocked the gun she carried away to skitter across the ground. The look on his face was brutal now, determined.

"Go for it," He encouraged her as she knelt in front of him, "Go for the gun or go for me, your choice."

She felt like there was no right answer here, so she dove backward toward the gun.

His fingers caught in her hair, the other arm grabbed her arm and jerked her back toward him. She gave a shout of pain and tried to spin but he pulled her hair sharp and hard and put that arm painfully up between her shoulder blades. He kicked her feet out from under her and took them both to their knees on the ground.

"You're hurting me."

"So? Escape."

Rebecca struggled, grunting with the effort. The sharp pain in her head was making her angry. "Let me go."

"No. Escape."

She scissored her legs uselessly and he pinned them with his own knees on either side. "Now you're trapped from all sides. What do you do?"

Her mind slowed down, assessed. She was better then this. She was better than this. She hadn't been in training in years, of course, but she still had HAD training. Bravo had been all about training.

She let herself go limp against him and turned her voice sharp and whining, "Let me gooooo!"

He jerked her harder against him, "Try again. I'll break your arm in a moment. ESCAPE!"

Her free hand grabbed lifted, grabbed at the empty space1q and found the side of his neck. He made some gesture but was too slow, she set her nails against his skin and didn't hold back; she raked him as hard as should could. He hissed and shifted, he didn't let go but the hand on her arm loosened slightly.

She grabbed his hair with her free hand and pulled her body weight against him. It threw him off balance enough that jerked his head at the same time she rotated, turned, rolled. She lost some hair in the process but she was face to face with him now and he'd lost control of her other arm.

She didn't stop, maybe she should have, but she didn't. She fell straight to her back and humped her hips upward. He couldn't have stopped it but he let her finish the move. Her feet planted in his sternum, her hand in his hair pulled him forward and she pushed. He went up and over, tossed into the air by the momentum. And he was impressed as he went up, over, hit the ground and rolled through it.

He came to his back with her atop him now and she pinned his arms to the ground beside his head.

Breathing heavily, he smiled, "Not pretty but that did the trick."

"I have my moments."

"You finished?"

"Nope," He tested her strength and it was lacking, she was too small to hold him down. He lifted his arms and flipped her wrists into his hands. She grunted and pushed back but he jerked her forward, hooked his foot at her left ankle and rolled.

With her beneath him, he pinned her wrists above her head.

"You have to learn your body, learn your triggers, your weak points," He felt her breathing, fast and shallow, "Once you know what you can take, you can learn how to direct your opponent, couple them to your skill, and win. Even if they are bigger, faster, stronger."

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft, breathy.

"Yeah," He had been watching the horizon as he lectured, "Yeah. And they will be. They all will be."

Even now, she thought, when she was fully aware of him above her, when she was fully aware of the line of his body against hers, he was lost somewhere in watching for the enemy. He was emerged in the world of his own making, this land where he was never safe, never slept, never did anything but fight and bleed and kill. She ached, both inside her and outside her body for him. She ached and yearned and hurt and wanted.

She tested her hands against his grip. It was loose but secure. So she shifted her neck instead. She lifted her head off the ground the slight few inches he was away from her…and pressed a soft kiss to chin.

If she'd have kicked him in the balls, it wouldn't have surprised him more.

His hands completely slackened on hers and his eyes darted down to her face. She relished, a little, the shock there. And couldn't stop the slight giggle at it.

"Hi," She smiled, sweetly. But she wasn't sweet, she was a saucy little minx. An evil little sprite, not a fairy sent to taunt him and torture his poor sad chastity with her games. She watched his eyes dart back and forth over her face and something in her belly tightened low, fast, hard as it shifted to her mouth and lingered.

Oh…shit. Well…now she didn't want to finish what she'd begun here. She hadn't really meant to…didn't think he'd…but now…oh her brain was a mess. She wanted to…and…but her training. HER TRAINING. She turned her brain back to where it belonged before it fell out of her ass and she started trying to make out…with Leon Kennedy.

Make out with Leon Kennedy.

It sounded stupid when she heard it in her head. One didn't MAKE OUT with Leon Kennedy. The idea was sheer stupidity.

The stubble on his cheeks, the start of the goatee, the promise of a beard there on his face made her feel about fifteen years old again. She wanted, so badly, to see what that mouth could do. She was betting it was just as precise as the body that went with it.

She had never, not once, thought he'd be interested in her. And then he'd looked at her mouth. And now she was confused, giddy, and sort of afraid of it.

He said, softly, "I don't think a zombie would care if you licked its face."

She laughed a little, "I wouldn't lick a zombie…"

"Why not?" And those damn eyes darted to her mouth again, "I bet they taste like chicken."

She'd heard, once, of his legendary since of humor. He had a penchant, they said, for bad jokes and one liners. He was sort of known for it, years before. But she'd never really been witness to it. And now here it was.

It was bad. It was like hers, really lame.

And something shifted harder inside of her.

He wasn't sure who was more surprised; he or Rebecca. He didn't even know he still had bad jokes inside of him. Turned out, he'd just needed the right catalyst.

"That was really bad."

He smirked a little, "Yeah."

"I'd heard that about you, that your jokes were really bad. You often find yourself making bad jokes these days?"

"Only when I'm in the right position."

"And on top of me is the right position for bad jokes?" She sounded both highly amused and sort of offended.

Now his face was very, very serious and his voice was very, very quiet, "It's the right position for something…not sure there's anything funny about it."

Did she want him to kiss her? Something in his face looked like he wanted to. The answer, of course, was hell yes. Hell yeah. Yep. 100% legit yes yes yes.

But she said, "Leon?"

He was specifically staring, STARING, at her mouth now. "Gotcha."

"Hmm?"

He'd slackened his grip so much that she rolled her upper body left, broke his grip, brought her elbow back and smashed it against his face. The impact rolled him slightly off her and she grabbed his left shoulder and pushed, rolling with him.

They grappled, rolling along the ground now, and somehow she'd gotten him on his face on the ground beneath her. She anchored his arms behind his back.

Panting, she laughed, "Say Uncle!"

He chuckled, and was surprised to hear himself do it. He was even more surprised that he was ACTUALLY enjoying himself. Even if he was currently face down in the mud.

"Ok. Uncle."

Rebecca chuckled and rolled off of him, rising to her feet. He shifted to his back and she offered him a hand up.

"You look kinda awful covered in mud," She joked, he really didn't but it was all in good fun, "Sorry I kicked your butt so hard."

"I'm not," He took the hand and rose, amused, "Now I know you can handle yourself."

"I'm not just another pretty face."

He stopped, studied her, "No. Not just another pretty face."

Rebecca smiled, and he admitted the face was pretty, very pretty, but the nature behind the face was fierce, challenging, amusing, and graced with dignity and dedication. She was smart, genius smart in fact. Her IQ was off the charts. He'd seen her evaluations. She could have done anything with brains like hers. She'd chosen to go into trying to save the world, one vaccine at a time. She'd shied away from the fight and chosen the path of savior, like Claire before her.

But fight she could, and did, well in fact for someone so small and seemingly fragile.

"This is a beautiful piece of land you have here," She was staring off into the horizon as he watched her, considering. "You plan to retire here?"

Leon laughed, wryly now, as they started back toward the house. "Retire? Not sure what that word means. Is there any retirement from what we do? Can I get a twenty year pension and cash in my four oh one k?"

Rebecca chuckled, "Looks to me like you already cashed yours in. This place had to have cost millions, Leon. I don't have that kind of money. So you've done something right."

"Hah, right," Leon laughed sarcastically and shifted, "Right…my father had a job lined up for me after the academy. Great gig, Boston. Big city power. I didn't want to work under his thumb though. I didn't want to be his bitch boy."

He stopped, scanning the horizon. Was he seeing the sky, she wondered, or his own regret? She had her own. The dawn had given way to the beginnings of what would be a beautiful storm. Clouds had bubbled and boiled across a once beautiful landscape, turning it a gray and darkening mass.

"So I took the job in Raccoon City. Stupid shitty little town but up and coming. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had put a great deal of money into its revitalization. Raccoon City was a burgeoning metropolis. I was going to be far away from him, I was going to help clean up the streets..make a difference."

Rebecca grabbed his forearm and stopped him. He turned, surprised, to meet her eyes. "You do make a difference. You make a difference every damn time."

Leon scoffed, shook his head. "My defiance of my father had me walking into that fucking town, Rebecca. The architect of my own fucking destiny. I screwed MYSELF. Too fucking proud to take a job my father landed for me. And I drove my stupid fancy jeep right into the mouth of hell. The only difference I made was twenty years of looking over my shoulder, twenty years of sleeping with one eye open, of never stopping, never sleeping, never breathing. Make a difference for whom? Shit."

She grabbed his arm again when he started walking and spun him back to face her. Thunder crashed somewhere in the distance now, loud and startling; a streak of lightning slashed fast and sharp across the sky. She was a fierce little sprite now and the anger on her face was as sharp as the lightning that illuminated it.

"For ME! You idiot," She shoved at him and he stumbled, surprised, "You saved me! Or have you forgotten?"

He staggered but didn't go down. "Me? That was CHRIS! CHRIS REDFIELD. Or have YOU forgotten? He carried you, he found you, he got you the vaccine. I did nothing!"

"You FOUGHT! We came across the country to find you and you fought that…thing. You fought it, ALONE, while he raced to find the cure. You did that, Leon! Do you think I didn't know? I was there, dying, on that rooftop. He left me there and rushed back inside to find the vaccine and you…you battled that monster…that thing. I watched you fight it. I watched it beat the fucking shit out of you!"

Her little soft voice sounded odd saying things like "fucking shit". He stared at her while she raged, enamored of her shift from angry sprite to raging Valkyrie. "I was terrified sitting there, trying not to stop breathing, terrified. But not that I might die, no!"

She shoved him in the chest now, pushed him again, "I was afraid YOU would die! You and Chris had done so much already. And there you were…there you were…so fucking brave. So amazing…you just showed up. You showed up on that roof, I didn't think you would. You know? The dirty drunk man in that bar that we'd found, he was dark, and lost, and angry. He's here now. RIGHT NOW. But he wasn't THERE."

She shoved him again, harder, "He wasn't on that roof, Leon! But YOU were. YOU. This lost, angry, bitter, hateful man…this isn't that guy. Maybe I didn't know you before. Maybe I don't know you now. But him? The guy who fought that thing, the guy who stood between it and me, whom Chris trusted to protect me…that guy I know. That guy…I'm alive because of him. You could have kept on drinking…"

"Rebecca…"

"You could have kept on drinking and not helped, done nothing, you could have wallowed and died. You could now! You could pick up a pistol and put it to your chin and END IT! But you don't!"

Another shove.

"Rebecca…stop it."

"Why!?" Another shove. She watched the snap of anger now in the shock of his face. "Why not? You're a fucking mess. A disgrace. A useless drunk who rages against fate because he didn't make another choice all those years ago. Because he thinks what he does, doesn't matter!"

She grabbed his hand, shoved it against her chest and held it there, hard. "Do you feel that?"

No answer. She pushed that hand harder against her chest, he could feel her heartbeat now and it was fast and hard, her breathing was fast and hard and her anger was fast and hard…and her breasts were soft and smooth…

"I'm ALIVE. You fool! I'm ALIVE because of you. And you? You act like you're dead! But you're not! You're not dead! So why are you living like you are?!"

His fingers curled into her leather jacket and he jerked her forward. Thunder rolled again, loud, closer and a few sharp sprinkles of cold, cold, cold winter rain fall upon their angry faces. She stumbled but righted herself.

Light, he mused, she was so light. And short. And small. She wasn't tall and wily and seductive. She didn't play games to hurt and steal from him. She wanted to…help him? Help him? She just wanted him to what?

To live.

"THIS ISN'T THE LIFE I WANTED!" It was loud as it burst from his mouth, "Jesus Christ, who the fuck wanted it this way?! It isn't FAIR! I went to fucking HARVARD! I'm almost forty and I have NOTHING to show for my life. NOTHING! I've never had children, never been married, I've never taken a trip to fucking Disney World or had Thanksgiving with family and football."

And now there was sympathy on her face, "Oh Leon…do you think any of us really has? Some things are just not in the cards for people like us."

"Oh yeah?" He shook her a little and the rain spattered them with a little more force now, "Have you gotten laid recently, Rebecca? I'm betting you have! Well, guess what? I haven't!"

"It's been a dry spell for me too actually. Not a lot of time for boyfriends in the world of vaccine replication."

"Yeah? That so? How longs it been, hmm? Just out of curiosity?"

He let her go and she studied him, confused a little by his nearly manic anger about it. She didn't see any reason to lie. "About eight months really. I had a friend who'd occasionally share a meal with me and little naked Twister, not that I can see how that's really relevant to anything."

"Eight months," His laughter was so dry and sarcastic it was painful to hear, "Eight months…."

"Well, how long has it been for you, smart guy? Hmm? No women out here worth in the great wide wilderness? Been a few weeks has it?"

He spun back, sharply, "It's been forever."

Rebecca laughed a little, "Come on now. What's forever…a few months?"

He lifted his hands, gestured with open palms toward her, "I mean forever. Never. Not ever. Not once. Nope. Nothing."

"….you…wait…what?"

"Yeah. That's right. NEVER. The great hero? The savior? The guy who fought the beast on the rooftop, who fought Birkin, who rescued the President's daughter and, ironically, shot the President himself and saved the world…yeah that guy never cashed in his V card. That dude…he's an idiot. A wuss. A wienie. A complete fucking loser. The dude is 100% virgin."

Wow.

He froze as the truth came out of his mouth. And then there it was finally there between them like an ugly elephant in the room. She met his eyes, flabbergasted.

"Happy? I've got nothing. Let's go get ready to save the world again." He walked passed her toward the house and the sky opened up to let down a torrential down pour.

They ran back across the field as the rain whipped and poured, the wind wailing like a banshee down from the mountains to turn the cold rain, brutal. They burst into the main lobby of the house to find the fireplace roaring, happily laid but some mysteriously missing servant that roamed, unnoticed, around the palatial estate.

They stood in the silence, dripping. And for the first time, she understood. For the first time, she got it. He was so angry, so bitter, so hateful with himself and the world. And part of that was likely the biggest case of blue balls in the history of the world. She couldn't help give him back the life he lost but she could help him feel something besides all that rage.

And he was no longer the hero. No longer the untouchable Adonis. He was simply the man who'd saved her on that rooftop. And she was simply a woman who could now, in this moment, save him. Not from a beast, no, but from himself.

"Feeling sorry for me?"

His voice was loud in the silence, broken only by the crackling fire.

"No," She unzipped her jacket and slid it off. She hung it to dry over the back of a bar stool toward the bar area. "Not feeling anything like that."

"Then what?"

She turned and met his eyes, "Tell me why."

Her shirt clung to her, white and see through. He could make out the impressions of her nipples, pert and pointy from the cold. He stared hard at her face. "It's complicated."

Rebecca shook her head, sighed, she gripped the hem of her shirt and jerked it over her head. The plain white bra she wore beneath was serviceable, it wasn't sexy, or shouldn't have been but it was in a no frills, purely simple way. Her small, high breasts were pretty above a smooth, flat belly. She was petite, built slim and small. She was thin, fashionably, but naturally so.

"See that's the thing, Leon. It's not complicated." She undid the button of her jeans and pulled down the zipper, "It's just sex."

"Stop. What are you doing?"

She undid her boots and tossed them aside. And then she peeled off her soaked jeans until she stood there in her little white bra and her little pink panties. "It's just SEX."

She moved toward him and he wanted to retreat. But he held his ground.

"There's spare clothes in the back bedroom."

"Don't need them," She reached him and grabbed the zipper of his jacket, yanking it down, "You intimidated me before I got here. I mean, I am sooooo attracted to you but you give off this don't touch me vibe that likely scares people off."

She pushed her hands under the jacket and started to push it off him but his hands grabbed hers to hold her still. "I should have recognized it for what it was."

"What?"

"Another kind of a body armor," she leaned up on her tip toes and nipped at his mouth. He let go of her hands to try to back off and she grabbed his shirt and balled it in her hands to hold him there. "You go hand to hand again a twelve foot tall mutated monster but you run from me? Stop running."

"I'm not running." He kinda was. Or at least he was trying to. "I don't want your fucking pity."

"Pity?" She scanned his face now. Was he serious? Surely not. "Pity? Is that what you think?"

She grabbed his hand now and thrust it down her panties, he was just startled enough to let her. She was wet, soft, and very, very warm. "Does that feel like pity, Leon?"

She ground his hand against her, shivered. "There is no pity here. It's just sex. That's it. It's not the end of the world, it's not anything more than that. Sex. Between two consenting, sexual beings that want each other."

She put her free hand against the fly of his jeans and rubbed against the pressing bulge that was there. "I'm not asking you to marry me. Not saying we need to have a dozen babies and settle down." She stroked him through his jeans, watched his eyes lose focus, "Yeah. That's exactly what this is, sex. There's no pity here, Leon."

She pushed the jacket off his shoulders and he let her this time. It fell to the floor in a rush of leather and sighs. The skin hugging under armour shirt was cold and wet against his excited nipples. She put her teeth against one through the shirt and felt the heat of it into her belly.

"You saved me on that rooftop. I watched you, dying, and even dying I wanted to do that. To do this…" Her hands pulled up the shirt and she put her mouth to his stomach, licking across that perfect six pack. She pulled the shirt up and over his head, using it lack handcuffs for a moment to bind his arms behind him. "Ridiculous how the human mind works isn't it? Dying and I wanted to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you, I'll probably always want to fuck you. No pity here, damn you. Just sex."

The shirt dropped with a wet plop. She rose and hurt a little at the look of near fear across his face. What was he afraid of, she wondered, her? Or himself? Or what came next?

"Your body has needs, Leon. The same as mine. I needed a vaccine on that rooftop. You need this. Let me help you. Let me save you. Let me…" She licked a wet line up his chin and along the tightly sealed seam of his lips. Her hands jerked at his zipper, exposing the line of his navy blue briefs beneath.

"I don't know if I can." And he sounded like he was almost in pain.

She lifted him, hard and eager from his briefs and into her small hand. He was long, pink, perfect and smoothly silky over steely flesh.

"You can…just let me." She slid to her knees and put her mouth to him. He watched the length of himself slide inside her lips. The inside of her mouth was wet, tight, taunting. She guided her tongue around the salty sweetness of him like a well paid whore.

His knees buckled under the weight of that need that rose in him like a leviathan.

He spilled backward to the couch and she stayed on him, a parasite, a succubus trying to steal his soul. He'd lost his jeans, lost his mind, she bobbed up and down, up and down, and his body was her treat, her ice cream in summer, she licked and laved and lost not a drop of him as she amorously feasted.

His fingers tangled desperately in her hair as he watched her, enraptured. It was better, better than he'd thought, better than he'd known. It wasn't the first time a woman had put her mouth on him. That much of a virgin, he was not. But it didn't matter. She did it like she was born to do it. She did it like she'd eat him alive from the dick down. His body bowed and trembled, his breath came in pants and gasps, his balls tightened and tortured him with the need to spill between those perfect lips.

She drew back just a moment shy of his release. He made some desperate sound and she laughed a little, so sexy, so sweet, so…perfect.

"All these years…you must have some idea of what you want. No pity here, Leon. Just me. Just you. Just this. I want you. It doesn't have to be more than that."

He wasn't sure when he moved but he was on her, fast, predatory. The panties made a sound similar to a scream as he ripped them away. The bra ended up yanked down to band her ribcage uselessly. She wasn't sure what she'd expected but this…this was so much better.

She was dumped back across the couch and couldn't do more than gasp before he caught her left leg over his arm and shoved himself inside of her. It was sharp and deep and unexpectedly rough. She nearly yelled stop, it was nearly too much from this angle, but he was already thrusting inside of her over and over and over. The couch rocked and tipped, spilling them to the floor behind it.

He caught her with one arm behind her back as it did, and never broke his rhythm. He was a god after all, she mused as the first breaking wave of an orgasm was ripped screaming from her mouth. He laid her out like a serving platter on the closest surface, still pounding into her, never faltering.

She found herself strewn across the coffee table as he bracketed her hands above her head, shifted his hips and thrust fast, murderously deep, down into her from another angle. She scrambled, trying to hold on to her sanity as the sheer need and greed of it washed over them both. Her legs locked over his hips and she rose to meet him, thrust for violent thrust.

When the coffee table collapsed beneath the pounding weight of them, he drug her to the impossibly soft rug by the fire. She felt the orgasm burst over her in a scalding wave the second he drew back and flicked one careless finger over her aching clit.

His mouth was everywhere, breasts and belly, biting and starving and feasting. She grabbed his face as it passed over her collarbone, locked her legs around his flanks and slowed his feverish pace. The shudder of the orgasm nearly felled her again but she forced him to meet her eyes.

He opened his, slowed to a smooth, torturous tempo. It was deeper this way, longer, their eyes stayed locked, held. He dipped his face to kissed her, still watching her with those almost frightened eyes. What was that? She wondered, feeling his body inside of her, slow and torturing them both now. What was he so afraid of?

She kissed him, tasted him, and kept her eyes open to watch him. They seemed to both need to see the other, right then, right in that moment. She let him see it as he brought he to the peak of it and pushed her off, she thrust her tongue into his mouth as she came, gasping, and her body sucked his in deep, held it, milked it, rode it.

He lifted her to the ottoman beside them, braced one arm behind her back, lifted her leg across the other and shoved into her, hard, harder, faster, deeper. She couldn't do more than gasp, grunt, spasm. The angle was perfect, perfect, awful in its splendor. He brushed himself over that spot inside of her, that perfect spot, and when he found it, and felt her reaction, he forced himself into that spot deep and hard and relentlessly. She screamed, torn between pain and pleasure and perfection, she scrambled her hands against him and half pushed at him, half pulled him closer.

He couldn't, didn't, stop. He simply opened her farther, pushed her legs wider to take more of him. And put his teeth against her left breast. She cried out when the pain of those teeth nipped almost too sharp and he took her mouth with his, absorbing her scream. He thrust his tongue in time with his body and she hit the next wall of her orgasm, painfully, like needles this time of pleasure and release. She bucked against him and he grunted, grunted, jerked her close and pushed into her until he could go no deeper. She felt him shudder and spill himself there, at the core of her body, felt the burst of him deep inside of her.

They grappled closer, mouths mashing together as he filled her with his pulsing, pushing seed. She tumbled over the side of the ottoman and he pinned her there, half hanging off, with her body spitted on his pumping cock like a well used butterfly.

He released her when the storm had passed and she fell completely to the floor, sweaty, panting, sticky. His dick slid out of her, still shivering. His hands were planted on either side of her head in a push up motion. He could see down the line of her body as the stickiness of his release trickled down the inside of her leg.

He met her eyes as they slid back up her body. Panting, they stared at each other.

She rose a little to kiss him, wet and deep. He rubbed his sticky cock against the answering wetness of her body and shivered.

"Yeah," She whispered, hoarsely, "That's what fucking is. Awesome. But it doesn't make us married."

He laughed a little, roughly, and she echoed him. "Jesus Christ."

"Yeah," She laughed again, "Yeah. So…wanna go again?"

The laughter burst out of him now, full and joyous. He rolled to his back with it and she leaned on her elbow to look at him. Good god he was so impossibly handsome. The hollow cheekbones and dark circles under his eyes added a layer of something human to the sheer perfection of his face. His laughter was brilliant almost nerdy and utterly charming on a man so divinely perfect.

She rose, unsteady on her shaky legs, and moved naked and spent toward the kitchen. It was state of the art, fancy and functional in an industrious way. All the appliances were top of the line and apparently voice controlled. She asked for water, a chilled bottle of Evian dropped down into a slot on the fridge door for her.

Amused, she took it and slugged a sip.

"So now that we've handled that part, I guess we should talk about the mission. There's a chartered flight in the morning into Goose Bay, I ordered it before I flew out here with my fingers crossed that you'd say yes." She perused through the options on the list the fridge presented her for food while listening to the thunder rumbling, and selected a simple platter of fruit. A door slid up and a tray of artfully arranged fruits emerged. Star fruit, strawberries, pomegranate, dragon fruit, pineapple, apple slices, grapes and figs were all hanging out happily around a selection of fruit dips. She popped a fig in her mouth and chewed, still talking, "The area is as remote as they come, a hole in the wall really, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Local law enforcement is inept at best so they won't be up our asses while we do our business there."

She turned with a piece of starfruit halfway to her mouth and nearly dropped it. He was, as she'd always heard, a ghost. He was simply there, watching her. She gasped a little in surprise and then offered him the fruit, "Hungry?"

He cocked his head at her, "Yeah. I am."

Her eyes dropped, pinpointed exactly what he was hungry for, and lifted again. "Oh." She said lamely, "I don't think I have the right dip for that."

He stepped into her, pushing her back against the counter, "I think we'll find something that fits."

She laughed, delighted, and raised her arms to wrap around him. He kissed her, sharing the succulent nectar of the starfruit between them. The kiss was very wet, very playful, and managed to make them both heavy with need when they parted.

"So that's a yes on going again?"

He laughed, enamored of her, and lifted her onto the counter to bring her against him. He tilted her face back, skimmed her sweaty hair out of her eyes and dipped his mouth to taste hers. She touched her tongue to his, once, twice. And her eyes…she kept those eyes on his the whole time. The shy little scientist, the sweet little STARS recruit who'd become the professor, the sexy little minx who had a sensuality so deep and vast it was almost endless.

"Just sex," He said softly, nipping at her mouth as his hands skimmed up to cup and fondle her breasts. Her breath came quicker and more excited.

"Just sex," She lied, a little in love with him already, as she'd been since that moment he'd emerged on that rooftop that night she lay dying. Part of her had kind of always thought it would be Chris that she'd eventually woo and win. Chris, the boy wonder turned big shot hero, all muscles and good natured humor.

But Leon Kennedy had come out of that elevator on that Ducati like a dark horse, the erstwhile savior, the reluctant hero. And she'd yearned. Lying there, dying, she'd yearned. And hadn't stopped for a moment since.

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, feeling the moistness in her mouth, tasting the path of his thumb again with his tongue. He wanted to feast on her until they both died from it.

She leaned in close and against his mouth, she whispered, "Kennedy, you big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever."

The humor speared through the haze of rising need and brought a burst of laughter from him. He lifted her against him and hugged her with the delight of it.

He had no way of knowing that that simple gesture was a hundred times more meaningful to her then all the sex in the world. Maybe he didn't know it yet but he was on his way to healing.

And maybe, just maybe, he was going to be himself again before it was all said and done. They'd save the world again and in the process maybe the former damsel in distress would get the chance to save her dark knight too.


	2. II. The Spy and I

Author's note:

We have to see the connection between our heroes, both male and female, and feel the things they feel. I, myself, am a passionate person so the passion here excites and thrills me as does the love. I am, after all, a girl and suffer from an unending sense of romance and obsession.

This chapter shows us more of what is brewing between Mr. Kennedy and his scientist. Soo we'll see again the great Chris Redfield. We'll be visiting him next of course as their separate courses occur before all are reunited later.

Hopefully it is as fun to read as it is to write.

Until later.

II. THE SPY AND I

:::::::::::::::::::::::::TWO::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Bono Malum Superate

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways." – Buddha

Happy Goose Bay, Canada

Nain Province, 2017

Training and development had resulted in them changing their arrival date. They'd spent a series of weeks in the states gathering intel and data and with Leon helping Rebecca redefine her skill set. They'd been briefed on the situation and studied schematics of the local terrain, the local populace, the layout of land and sea. He never did anything unprepared and she had been happy to delay the leaving so he could get comfortable with the operation.

The snow had started to fall when they tiny plane they'd chartered taxied down on the pathetic excuse for a runway and came to a slow, jerky stop. The tarmac was little more than crumbling asphalt with some paint splashed on for good measure and the "airport" was an open hanger that was possibly made from aluminum. Inside were two men in jumpsuits that ran out to stop the wheels of the plane with cinder blocks while they exited.

Clad in parkas and carrying bags, they alighted from the plane with three extra men in their crew. One was Rebecca's assistant, Joel, a rather tall and lanky fellow that had a tendency to let his glasses slip down his nose when he laughed. The other two were little more than muscle in puffer jackets, sent by the BSAA to assistant in their "protection". Apparently, it wasn't him they were trying to protect but Rebecca, their most valuable new asset.

They moved across the tarmac while the wet fall wind whipped down from the neighboring mountains like the cry of the banshee and stole your breath with icy fingers. Canada was cold. Colder than a well digger's ass, cold. It was freeze-your-fucking-nuts-off cold.

The cold followed them to the "rental" car that awaited them. It was a huge all terrain vehicle with chains on the tires. It that sounded like a jet engine attempting to take off and blasted blissful heat on them as they climbed inside. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb drove and rode shotgun while Joel took one of the captain's seats in the middle. Leon and Rebecca climbed into the back seat and settle in for the drive to town.

The only place to stay to was a little motel called the Hoser Hut, a less than fashionable but still functional set of bedrooms that encompassed a semi-circle toward the edge of town. The winter Canadian landscape was lacking in color; white and gray, wild and unforgiving, for most of what the eye could see there was nothing but land and sea. Snow capped the surrounding mountains and settled prettily in valleys, the town was literally entrenched there amongst the great white north. It was simple and quaint, friendly as most of Canada was, with smiling faces and helpful souls.

Leon set his bag on the floor of his room and took notice of a handful of obvious things.

One: the room was outdated, yes, but functionally quaint. The walls had soft, pleasing paper with maple leafs dancing along the borders and the bedding was done in similar shades of fall and harvest golds, browns, and oranges. There was a night stand, a dresser, a small television and a bathroom. The bed looked clean and comfortable.

He had, without a doubt, stayed in worse. Additionally, there was something charming about Canada. Gone was the American penchant for condescension that beat at the heart of their southern border. Everyone was stereotypically polite, yes, but they also seemed to be happy about it. There was no begrudging rudeness when you asked for help. There was no quintessential American regard for time wasted in pursuit of other's happiness. Everyone here…WANTED to help you.

Two: the great white north suited him like a second skin. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and the makings of his first fine beard and figured he'd need it here. He'd been tempted to shave it but was glad he'd elected to leave it. The chill outside would likely rob his face of its heat fairly quickly once they started moving on their investigation.

There was only chatter at this point so jumping into a full on, frontal assault against what could possibly be a perfectly friendly family physician was not the way to handle it. They'd have to blend and play the excited tourists. Their friendly escorts were to do the same. The cover was simple but effective: they were a research team from American here to study the local topography and mating habits of the indigenous wolves.

What Leon knew about any of that could probably fill up a teaspoon but he was an acclaimed actor, part of the spy gig meant being able to play the hand you were dealt. He'd make it work. As long as they flew under the radar, they could find out what they needed to know with little enough ease.

He'd start right across the street at the local diner. A glance at his watch told him it was about lunch time anyway. And if he was right, most of the town would likely filter through the diner to grab their grub and dish on what was happening. Locals had a tendency to spill the beans without even realizing it.

He slipped the insulated black sock hat he wore over his ears, adjusted his camel colored trench and pulled the collar up around his checkered scarf. The brief walk to the diner was brisk and stole the breath. He knocked off his boots politely as he entered the diner, enjoying the warmth and the soft spill of pleasant retro music from the jukebox toward the back.

The diner was one long affair in a simple line. There were no curves or turns or twists. It resembled, from the outside, a train car and was modeled after a bygone era. It was charming and simple with booths done in red shiny vinyl and tables scratched up but pristine. The hanging sign out front hailed it as Enid's Empty Nest and promised if you "Come here to roost, you never roost alone". The woman behind the solid wood counter waved him toward her and leaned on the counter to smile at him.

She was round in face and pretty with pinkened cheeks and graying dark hair. The lines at her mouth and corner of her eyes put her close to sixty and the contentment that blossomed soft and pure around her said she was happy with it. "Well hi there, stranger. I'm Enid and you must be one of the researchers we've heard so much about."

Leon gave her a smile and didn't even have to fake it. She was just that infectious. "I am indeed. I caught a whiff of whatever you're cooking over here and discovered a desperate need to research the local watering hole."

Enid gave him a blinding grin. "Well, what you're smelling is a Sunday specialty around here called poutine. It's a terribly fattening and fantastic concoction of French fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy. The most unhealthy and tasty thing you will ever eat, I promise you that."

It sounded like a heart attack covered in liver failure and resulting in clogged arteries. So naturally, he said, "I'll risk it. When in Canada…"

"A boy after my own heart," She called back to the window behind the counter, "One special Gus! So how long you think you'll be here staring at wolves?"

"Hard to say. Wolves can be finicky creatures."

"So I hear," She grinned at him again, "Have yourself a seat handsome and the food will be up soon."

"Can't wait," He moved to a booth and settled down, unwinding his scarf as he sat. He pulled out his phone to check messages and the news while he waited for his food and, naturally, eavesdropped on the locals.

In the fifteen minutes it took for his food to arrive, he learned more about life in Nain than you'd think possible. He filed all of the information away for later use, as you never knew what was relevant and what wasn't. Was it likely he would need the knowledge that Fred Starr's dog had gotten off his leash again and made a mess in Gladys Miller's bushes? Of course not. But one never knew.

She watched him from the road outside the diner. He couldn't possibly know that she could see him there beyond the glass. The man was an enigma wrapped in a two thousand dollar Burberry trench coat. He wore it like some men wore jeans and a t-shirt, casually, easily. He wore it the way she knew he wore the shoulder holster beneath it, easily, casually, comfortably. He was as at home in that coat as he was in the cheap t-shirt she'd found him in several days before.

She watched him pull off the sock hat he wore and skim a hand through his hair. It settled perfectly back in place and made her smile. She was fairly sure under her own beanie cap that her hair was a nightmare of cowlicks and curls. He made handsome look easy and class seem inherent.

She was kinda in love with him. She knew that. She'd effectively shot herself in the foot by sleeping with him. Casual, she'd said, and then she'd screwed that all to hell. She'd meant it, at the time, she had gone into it eyes wide open and ready. And come away from the last few days a victim of her own making.

Silver Lake Montana, 2017

Three Weeks Before

Rebecca grunted as she landed on her back. The wind was knocked out of her and the jolt of it radiated up her spine to the back of her skull. "Ouch."

"You're not trying."

She gave him a wry look. "Really?"

He offered her a gloved hand, she took it and rose, jerked to her feet. The sun was setting and the temperature was bordering on inert. They'd been training all day since the sun had first peeped its pretty pink head over the horizon and said hello that morning. She was cold, sore, tired, and over it.

"I'm going back."

She turned and he grabbed her, fast and smooth. They grappled, the girl and the hero, and traded a series of well-timed blows and rebuttals. He blocked, parried, spun her out and jerked her back to discombobulate her. She aimed for his knee, feinted in a blow to the face, blocked, dropped, and rolled away from his boot that came down at her.

She gained her feet a second before he caught her, lifted her, and smashed her none too gently against the wall of the burnt out building in the training ground. She slapped him hard across the face which surprised them both and he set her down, gently now.

"…ouch."

"Exactly." She gave him a dry, pointed look. "I'm going back now."

"I'm afraid to argue you with again. So I guess I'll agree."

She put her nose a little in the air and passed by him. "Good…" She paused and said over her shoulder, "And sorry for the smack."

"Not necessary. I may have over done it on the simulation training."

"Hmm."

They moved into the burnt out building to pass through toward the exit. He stopped to gather up the weapons they'd used during training. He was poking them in the duffel bag and she watched him, considering. His cheek was quite red where she'd slapped him.

"How'd I do?"

He tossed a glance at her, zipping up the ammo bag. "Pretty good actually." Rising, he looped the bag over his shoulder. "You have a few blind spots that could use some work but I think you'd be ok up against a good amount of threats. You do well with a gun and move quick on your feet. If you work on your strength and how to use your small size to your advantage, I think you'll do alright."

"Is that what you do? Use things to your advantage?"

"Yeah," He set the weapon bag in the back of his pickup truck, "You have to know where your weaknesses are. I'm not big but I'm fast and I'm adaptable. I can look at an environment and tell you how I can use it to my advantage. It gives me an edge over a bigger, stronger opponent."

"I want to learn how to do that."

He paused, met her eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah. I do. I've always been the little girl that people feel like they need to protect. I want to learn to use that to my advantage. I can't escape it but maybe I can make it my secret weapon."

The frigid wind blasted a kiss over their faces, forcing her to shiver in front of him and underline her point. She was right; she needed to learn how to make her enemies underestimate her so she could kick the shit out of them. Small didn't need to mean weak.

"Let's head back and get out of this cold and I'll show you."

They trained long into the night. He taught her how to move, how to anticipate him, how to read him, how to beat him. He taught her how to react, how to break and bend and pick herself back up when she figured she was completely done. He showed her how to disconnect the pain and push through to keep going. She fell and got back up. She fell and got back up. She fell and, by god, she got back up.

The third time she countered, parried, and put him on his ass, he laid there smiling. "I think you're ready."

Breathing heavily, sweating, she smiled down at him. "For what?"

"To fight at the Cobra Kai Dojo."

She blinked at him, blinked again, and laughed. He made a helluva Mr. Miyagi. She offered him a hand up and he took it.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He moved toward the bathroom, crossing the room where they'd trained. It was a large open space set up to be a home gymnasium. There was a sparring ring, weight equipment, punching bags and various weapons hung on the walls. He clearly maximized his body here. She shouldn't have been surprised, given that he had a secret arsenal in his bedroom. But she had given up trying to figure him out.

"What were you like…before?"

Leon met her eyes, smiled a little. He pulled his sweaty tank top off and tossed it in a hamper against the wall. The bathroom was set up like a locker room, with a row of benches and an area set to one side that clearly spoke of a post workout massage and recovery room. The shower was huge, marble, tiled in gray and green with one of those showers with dozens of different spouts. A therapy whirlpool waited close by as well for, she assumed, pulled muscles in self-inflicted injury.

He faced her in the sweat pants he was wearing and she was, as always, a little dry-mouthed looking at him. The ink-dark hair he wore set off his face, highlighting the patrician nose, the pale eyes. There was a scar that was raised a rather old on his upper chest and another, newer, still pinkish that trailed from mid-sternum to somewhere below the pants. It emphasized that perfect chest and stomach. How many sit ups did it take to look like that, she wondered? How many crunches to put those perfect lines on his hips? To show every perfectly defined muscle in his stomach? His chest and shoulders were lean, strongly muscled; the biceps had pumped enough iron to show the right amount of steely muscle without being overwhelming. A sprinkle of hair danced over his upper pecs and lined the path to his groin. His wrists and hands were carefully taped to protect his knuckles and hands while fighting. His feet were beautifully bare.

He was no brick shithouse like Chris. No. He was honed, agile, like a ninja or something. He looked foreboding, untouchable, amazing. She was curious if he'd ever stop making her feel about fifteen years old when she looked at him. Her insides shivered because something was different today than yesterday. Today she could touch him.

It was so heady of a feeling that she still didn't know how to deal with it. She rubbed her fingers together as if she'd just touched a live wire in anticipation of it.

"Truth?"

She met his eyes, "Truth."

"Captain of the debate team."

She froze for a moment, waited. "What?"

"Oh yeah. Captain of the debate team. I was also Student Council president. I had braces and glasses and played the Oboe."

Her brain was trying to make sense of it. She studied him, wide eyed. "What?"

He laughed a little and that grin. That grin was magic. It was maddening. It was sex on a stick. How in the hell had it not always been that way?

"Oh yeah. Did you think I was Varsity football captain?"

"Honestly? Yeah."

He shrugged and began to untape his hands. "Nope. My father was the right wing Conservative whip from Virginia. He was the face of the Republican party. The figured at one point he'd run for President but they didn't know him. Being President would have come with too many rules. He had all the power he needed behind the Oval Office."

She moved a little toward him and set down on the bench to unstrap her boots she'd been wearing. "So you…just blended in."

"Yeah. I was a nerd, no lie. I was happy to play Dungeons and Dragons and Atari and didn't give a damn about girls or sports. I was a good runner so track was always something I figured I'd get into if I felt like it. But my father didn't care about that. He wanted me in politics. He pushed me into government debate classes and angled me to follow him into the senate."

"Why didn't you?" She was fascinated by him, the level of what she'd never thought under all the levels of hero. The lost little boy.

"No interest in politics. I never have been. Sure, I was raised in boarding schools and have all the manners, all the skills. I can schmooze a crowd or work a room for donations. I know which fork to use at a fancy dinner and how to charm the pants off constituents. But I wanted to do something better. Something more…"

"Heroic?"

He met her eyes, smiled. "Yeah. Heroic. So I told the old man no to politics. That was hard for him at first but a hero son who served was just as good. So he set up the job for me after the police academy to work under his thumb. The training nearly killed me. I was skinny, young, and had never run a mile in my life. But I came out of it knowing I could do anything if I set my mind to it."

"And took the job in Raccoon City."

"And took the job in Raccoon City."

She rose and he watched her, tilting his head to one side. "What about you? Why STARS? You could have done anything. I read your testing scores. I read your file."

She paused, curious. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why read my file?"

"I'm never unprepared."

Rebecca chuckled a little, shrugged. "Captain of the debate team. " She moved a little toward him as she spoke. He turned, watching her. "Student Council president…"

He pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning on. The smile on his face was almost too much for her belly. It was flipping delightedly as they moved toward each other.

"I had braces and played the flute." She hooked a finger into his sweatpants to pull him forward. Her other hand slid over the perfection of his stomach, dipping against each defined muscle. She skimmed her fingers around one nipple, watched it peak. Lord, she mused, he was perfect. Her questing hand traced over his right hip flexor and slid lower inside his sweatpants to rub the top of one heavy thigh. "I was a total geek." Her voice was almost lost under the rapid thumping of her heart. Surely he could hear it beating loud and fast?

"Oh yeah?" His voice was low, gravelly. He wasn't sure he'd ever really get enough of that look on her face. She looked at him like he was something to eat.

"Oh," She nodded a little, nervous as hell now. "Yeah."

His hands caught her face, slid up into her hair and tilted her head back to look down at her. "You're something, aren't you?"

She slid her hands up the outside of his arms, felt the roll of fine muscle. "No. I'm just a nerd who wanted to be something brave."

"Yeah," He laughed a little, scanning her face with those husky blue eyes. She was something all right. "Just a nerd who wanted to be a hero."

"Maybe I'm just a nerd who wants to be with a hero."

"I'm not a hero. Just a guy who had a rough first day on the job and never quite stood still after that."

"You wanna stand still now?" Her voice was soft and shaky. It humbled something inside of him to see her reaction to him. Her cheeks were pink and warm, her lashes hooded over her eyes. She kept rolling her bottom lip between her teeth in a nervous gesture. He'd never once, in all his life, stopped to see what girls felt when they looked at him. How she looked at him…like he was some kind of god. She looked at him like he was sex, and greed, and something she coveted. Where had she been all his life?

"No. Don't wanna stand still. Rebecca?"

"Hmm?" She was avidly staring at his mouth.

"You wanna take a shower?"

"Leon, I cannot think of anything I would like to do more than take a shower."

He laughed and lifted her against him, moving them back into the shower. The water sensed them and turned on automatically, setting itself to 101 degrees. It was his favorite temperature.

It stole the breath as it struck the skin, wet and hot. He pushed her against the wall of the shower and kissed her. Or she kissed him. Or they just fell into each other trying to eat each other. He didn't know and didn't care.

He couldn't stop her hands, didn't know how to stop her hands, wouldn't have stopped her hands if the world went up in flames in that moment. She put him back against the wall and placed his hands beside his hips, palms flat against the tile. She hooked her fingers in his sweatpants and tugged them down, letting them pool around his feet in a soggy. She stepped back to look at him and wasn't sure she'd survive it. She wasn't sure she'd survive this. Whatever this was. He was inside her like some kind of…virus.

Yeah, she thought, a virus. He'd infected her. She could almost see outside herself and watch the soul searing hunger that over came her at the sight of him.

She raised her eyes to his and held them. She heard her voice say, "I need you to stay still. Totally still. Can you do that for me?"

He watched her in the pounding water and there was something dark and hungry in those pale eyes. But he nodded and stayed exactly as he was. She started at his mouth.

She had to go up on tiptoe but she did it. She pressed a kiss to his mouth and then to his chin. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, first right and then left. She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat and then first one shoulder and then the other. She delved her tongue at each nipple, bringing his breath in shallow and excited pants.

She placed a soft kiss against the bullet wound on his shoulder just where the chest and arm pit met and felt him tense. She licked it, rolled the feel of it between her lips and nipped at it. Her eyes slid over his wet body and met his. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He said nothing as the words lodged in his throat.

She skimmed her fingers over the old scar and something on her face was angry now and raw. "I read the report. In your file."

She nipped across the top of his pecs now but her hand kept rubbing that old scar. She lifted herself to look into his face, still swirling the battle wound with those delicate fingers. He wasn't sure what he felt, torn somewhere between old angst and arousal.

"Ada Wong."

The name sounded like thunder from her mouth. Like lightning.

She watched it echo in his eyes and had the answer she'd always wondered about. Ada Wong was what had tortured him all these years. Ada Wong haunted him or had her hooks so deep in him that he was only half of what he should have been. Ada Wong had gotten him shot and somehow crawled inside of him to possess him. She had infected him as surely as he had infected Rebecca.

Rebecca knew only one thing: she was going to get Ada Wong out of him if she had to rip that bitch screaming from his body like an exorcised demon. She'd start with his body and work toward the soul. Rome wasn't built in a day.

"What was she to you?"

His voice was low and hard. "It doesn't matter."

"Ah," Rebecca moved her hand now, across him to the scar that bisected him down the middle. Newer, fresher, and still shiny. She dropped down to start at the bottom, the very bottom, where the scar started just above the groin. She used the tip of her tongue and traced it, slow and steady. She traced it completely up his body to the top. And when it ended, she kept that tongue on him until it rolled over his throat, his chin, and then delved into his mouth.

His hands started to lift to grasp her and she shook her head at him. She separated his lips with her tongue and traced the inside of his mouth before she settled hers against it and kissed him. She kissed him like she'd crawl inside of him and burst him from the inside out. She kissed him like she'd feed on his soul through his mouth.

Their mouths made a wet popping sound as they separated. Her fingers were still tracing that long scar. "What's this from?" Her voice was ragged with want. Just listening to it made him so hard he was dying with it.

"Rooftop…" Apparently, he could only manage one word.

"Oh," She moved her mouth back to his chest, swirled her tongue again at a nipple and tortured them both with it, "You got this saving me."

"Yeah."

She rolled her eyes up at him, "So she put a mark on your body and so did I."

He said nothing, lost somewhere between absolute lust and longing. She dug her little nails into his stomach and slid them down to his groin to the end of that long, long scar. He grunted as twin spikes of pain and pleasure speared into his belly and stole his breath.

She pressed her mouth over his and forced him to hold her eyes as she drug those nails, long, slow, and wonderfully up his scar. She whispered against his mouth, "Mine is bigger. Where is she Leon? Where is she? How could she mark you and not find out what you taste like? How could she mark you…and not keep you?" She set her teeth against his mouth, oh so gently, "Can I keep you, Leon? I'll mark you anywhere you want."

He broke his promise. It was too much and not enough and he'd die if he didn't. He broke his promise and pushed away from the wall. She gasped in surprise as he caught her and forced her face back under the assault of his mouth. His tongue was merciless, ruthless, it plummeted so deep and hard into her mouth she thought his greed would break her jaw.

She came alive beneath it, raking those nails up his back now in some attempt to spill the blood that boiled like lava between them.

He grunted with pleasure and ripped the tiny shirt she wore. He ripped it, right down the middle like it was nothing, it came apart in his hands like flimsy paper. She started to bicycle her legs to get her pants off and he didn't bother to wait for her to finish, he speared his hand into her panties and crudely thrust two fingers into her. She was ready but not ready. Her body clamped around his invading digits even after a cry ripped from her throat in surprise.

He didn't give her a change to say no, to fight him off, to do anything. He finger fucked her so mercilessly as she tried to get her pants off her lower legs but they were wet and stuck to her ankles like glue. She grabbed at his arms to try to hold herself up? To try to make him wait until she was ready? She had no fucking idea what was happening. She knew only that he drove those fingers into her, cupping his palm against her groin, his thumb shifting to sweep between the damp lips of her sex and brush back and forth over the apex of her body.

His free hand lifted to settle around her throat, his thumb driving against the soft underside of her chin, angling her face back to take more of his tongue. She couldn't get her eyes to close, they were rapturously fastened to his face as he slammed her against the tiled wall and forced himself on her. Forced? No. Force implied a lack of want on her part. She'd not only wanted him, she was dying with it. He simple poured that desperate passion over the top of the both of them until they were drowning.

He ruthlessly drove her body to the peak of pleasure and just when she was about to go over, he shifted. His hand grabbed at her panties and jerked. Her lower body humped forward from the force of it. They dangled off one hip now, still attached but no longer blocking him.

He dropped to his knees in the humid, heated, wonderful water. She couldn't think, didn't think. He put his mouth to her and she tried to fall down. He didn't let her, he shifted both her thighs until they were over his shoulders. Her hands scrambled to find something to grab above her and settled on the shelf where the shampoo set.

It fell with a clatter to the ground as she knocked it down in her haste. He jerked her groin to him and feasted on her. Undone she could do nothing but hold on to that shelf and come. She came, bowing, bucking against his face. His left hand was at her breasts, mounding and taunting, pulling and teasing and taking. His mouth was merciless; it joined his right hand in thrusting into her, over her, through her. Her thighs quivered, pressed against the sides of his head while he ripped her apart one clever, wonderful thrust and bite at a time.

She came screaming while he drown them both in need.

When the storm passed, he all but dropped her back to the tile floor. She nearly fell when her legs gave out and he caught her, pressed her against the wall and set his teeth against her breasts, his tongue, his lips.

She squirmed, gasped, and finally, when he released her arms, she shoveled her fingers into his wet hair and pushed it back off his face. The face was startlingly handsome without his signature tresses hiding it. She held his eyes with hers while the water beat around them and she brushed his hair back from his face.

"God." She almost whispered it.

"No," He cupped her face, held her, "Just Leon."

"Same." She kissed him now, open eyed, watched him while she did it. He tasted like her and like sex and like hunger. "Same."

Her hand skimmed over that scar again and settled against his chest where it stopped, inches from where his heart thundered beneath the skin. "Am I in there yet?" She whispered it and felt it, the pain of wondering, the pain of wanting him so much.

He said nothing but took her mouth with his.

There was something different in the kiss they shared now. It was slow, smoother, stronger. And there was something on his face when they separated to look at each other. She pulled him a little toward her, testing.

Her heart nearly stopped as he did what she'd hoped, he put his forehead against hers and held there. Her hands came up and slid around his back. And he shifted, pulling her into him. A hug. Nothing overt, nothing even close to what they'd just done. Just a hug. And it was so much bigger and so much more.

They held each other that way for a long moment, feeling the warmth and rush of the shower. Just sex was extremely complicated when you made it feel like this. How long could it stay just sex? She didn't care. Didn't care if she fell so in love with him that it killed her. She didn't care.

Standing there pressed against him, feeling the darkness in him so thick and wide, wanting to plunge her hands into that darkness and rip it screaming from his body until he was free of it…she didn't care. She would die trying to exorcise his demons. He so desperately needed her. And he wasn't even aware of it.

She rubbed her face against his now, like a cat scent marking. His beard was scratchy, rough, and brought her breath in hurried gasps. She put her mouth against his ear and whispered, "The oboe is a horrible instrument."

The surprise speared through him and drew his head back to look at her. "You little minx…the oboe is a man's instrument."

She giggled, stroking his hair back from his face. "Terrible instrument. You couldn't have played jazz sax?"

"In hindsight I probably should have lied."

Rebecca kissed him, a little more in love with him. "No. Don't ever lie. It doesn't suit you."

"I lose some cool guy points in the last few minutes?"

"No. Gained some. Big time."

"Everybody loves a band nerd."

"Well I love a ba-" She stopped, horrified that she'd opened her mouth. They held each other's eyes as that statement thundered between them. She said, softly, "I didn't mean…"

"It's ok." He shook his head, skimmed his hands over her face, "Rebecca? It's ok. I know what you meant."

There was no panic on his face. She had thought he'd freak out and retreat. But he looked amused and wet and wonderful.

They shifted to wash each other. And laughed while getting soap in their eyes. He was too tall so he had to bend down so she wash his. They played like children in the water and when the soap trailed down with her hand to loop around him, the laughter dried up in need.

She stole his breath, this girl that had shown up a day ago and thrown his world into confused, sweaty, wonderful upheaval. Her hands slipped over him, molding, playing, touching and she was soapy and smooth and sexy.

He hadn't thought of Ada since she'd first touched him. It was surprising as he'd spent years unable to do anything but yearn for the spy who tricked and tickled his buttons with her mischievous enigma. He wasn't sure what it was about the girl in front of him. She was unpretentious and small and kind of naïve. She had curled up next to him on the couch the night before and asked a million questions while they'd watched an old John Wayne movie on television and then kicked his butt when they'd broken out the Xbox and played against each other in Call of Duty.

She was something. And was giving him glimpses of what life might have been like if he'd just met a girl, married her, and lived a normal life. It was fascinating to find that the yearning he felt for Ada was mirrored in the yearning Rebecca had stirred up for what life might be like without Ada, without Umbrella, without the constant pressure to be Leon Kennedy.

He turned her against the shower wall and put her hands above her head. His mouth slid over spine, licking, tasting. He played his tongue between her legs and she shivered, moaning. He rose again, slid his hand over her delicious bottom and between her thighs, playing with her.

Yeah. She was something.

He set his teeth into her shoulder as he moved behind her and ran the hard, aching length of himself over the curve of her ass. She shuddered, threw one hand back and drove her nails into his flank, encouraging him.

He took it as a yes and bracing both hands on the wall beside her, he pushed himself into her body. She gasped, bowed against him, and he sheathed himself into the heat of her to the hilt. He held himself there, spitting her on his body while he gained enough control to not pound her to death against the wall.

She felt him put his forehead against the place where her neck and shoulder met, felt him gather his resolve. Rebecca turned her head, nuzzled at his face, and took his mouth in a long, wet, tongue thrusting kiss. She rocked back against him, encouraging. She didn't think she'd ever know anything more wonderful than what it felt to feel him thick and deep inside her.

She moved her hips and pulled herself nearly off before pushing herself back on him. His hands moved down and jerked her hips back. He lifted her to her tip toes, angled himself better, and rode her. It was slow and torturous. He went out, he rode in, he caused them both to nearly die with the aching slowness of it.

She humped back against him, desperate. He shook his head and kept the pace slow and steady. She was nearly undone when she pulled away from him. She turned and leapt on him. He caught her, easily, and she took his face and raped his mouth with hers. He was laughing delightedly at her as he pressed her back against the wall and speared her with himself.

They clashed together now, desperate and fast. They ended up across the floor of the shower with her atop him and the water trying to drown them both. She stole his sanity, blanketed them both in that humbling, skin stealing, soul raping rush of greed she felt for him. She held him down now with his arms over his head as she fucked him, forcing his body into hers fast and deep and constant. He was making some sound in his throat, trapped beneath her; a willing vicitim. He felt her tighten, felt her orgasm as it ripped through her body, and out of her mouth in a desperate cry.

He lifted his upper body off the ground and wrapped his arms around her waist. He surged twice more against her and pressed their mouths together hard enough to bruise if she didn't open for him. She did and his tongue surged inside. He filled her mouth with his desperate gasp and jerked her hard down on him. The slap of skin was musical in the pounding water.

He pumped her full of himself, shivering, shuddering. She kissed his eyelids and his cheeks.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes and met hers. She skimmed her hands over his face and traced his mouth with her thumb. "Hi."

"Hi."

"This could get complicated."

"Yeah." He nipped her finger with his teeth. "Not sure what to do about it."

"We'll have to be careful."

"Like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

She paused, blinked, and laughed. "Such a pretty face for such a silly man."

He laughed and lifted her, still stuck to him. He set her down on her feet in the still raging water. He cupped her face in his hand and chuckled. "Who are you? Some fairy sent here to tempt me."

"Maybe." She followed him out of the shower and helped herself to a towel. "Jesus."

He turned, the towel in his hands as he dried his back. "What?"

"Even your ass is perfect."

He laughed again, shrugging. "What can I say? I'm awesome." He executed a muscle man pose and winked at her.

"Well that helped break the spell," She laughed as well, enamored of him. It wasn't the body. Well…it WAS the body. It wasn't JUST the body. The boy inside of the body was still there. He was still silly and simple and fun. He wasn't dead after all. He just needed help to come back out.

"Let me ask you something."

He moved to her to dry her hair for her. It was…a husbandly gesture. And it made her belly feel a little raw with need.

"Sure."

"We have a couple days left here to train and get ready. And then we'll be busy getting stuff ready and prepping for the operation. And we won't…we just won't have time for it so I have to ask now. I delayed the flight for us just for that purpose. I want to ask you something but I don't know quite how to do it."

"So man up Chambers, just come out of with it." He winked again and moved hang up the damp towels for them.

"I want to just…I want to be with you."

She watched his back tense a little and then relax. He turned to look at her. "I kinda think we were just with each other."

She shook her head, tried again. "No. I want…I want to BE with you. I want to…hold your hand and touch you. I want to sleep next to you and sleep WITH you. I want to be with you. But I don't want to make things too hard. I don't want to complicate the mission. But I can't not want to do that stuff."

His lips quirked up a little. He should say no. It was dangerous ground. She was a greater danger than anything he'd ever faced before in his life. But he said, "Ok."

She waited, waited, lifted a brow. "Ok?"

"Ok." He shrugged. "You asking me to go steady, Rebecca Chambers?"

She felt her cheeks pinken and he had a moment to think she might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen in the whole of his life. "I guess I am. I kinda think I am."

He moved toward her and took her face in his hands. "Well, I kinda think that's ok. But I warn you…I'm pretty stingy with the covers."

She gathered him to her and kissed him. "I don't care. Take every last bit of them, I'll just use you to cover me instead."

"I'm pretty sure I can get behind that idea."

Neither of them was sure what was happening was a good idea. She was afraid he'd come to mean more to her than she would to him. She was afraid of the memory Ada Wong like a festering wound between them. She was afraid she'd settle for whatever he had left to give her even though it would never be enough.

He was afraid she'd come to mean more to him then he was ready for. He was afraid he'd use her up and it still wouldn't erase the bitch in red from his soul. He was afraid it would. He was afraid he'd end up obsessed with her as he was with Ada and he'd feed on her like some fucking parasite until they were both used up and she ended up dead inside like him.

Dead inside?

He lifted a hand and cupped her breast, played with it, watched her breath come fast and choppy. He could feel her heart beat beneath her excited chest, watched the skin pinken, watched her nipples tighten and beg. He watched himself lift her and carry her from the bathroom.

He watched himself lay her out over the weight bench and drop down to feast on her like a starving thing. Almost like he was watching a porno. He was obsessed with touching her, taking her, tempting them both to die of starvation instead of stopping.

Dead inside?

No. He was more alive now then he'd ever been. More alive with her then he'd ever been.

Her mark on him was bigger, she'd said. In a way, she was right. He'd nearly died twice to save two different women. Two totally different women.

One of them had played with him for decades, giving him just enough to keep running back for more. She was manipulative and cruel and teasing.

One of them had given him her laughter, her body, her hope. She was kind and funny and passionate.

Two totally different women.

As he watched himself sit on that weight bench while she mounted him, legs on either side, sitting on his lap like a dirty version of Santa Claus. While she rode him, both of them gasping and grappling and lost in each other. While he thought one of them would die from it all before it was over. He couldn't remember what it felt like to be dead inside.

He couldn't remember anything but the way she made him feel.

And maybe that was the scariest thing of all.


	3. III: Ada Wong, I Presume?

Author's note:

Here we take a moment to examine the darker side of things. We'll spend a moment with Ms. Wong and discover things that dance around inside of her. We'll take a look at the time that Leon and his lady spent together to see how they begin to bond and blend a little more. There is a level of eager darkness to this story that I haven't tapped yet. I do, as you can clearly see, enjoy the sexual side of things as an avenue of enlightenment. I am a sexual creature myself, enjoying the raw intimacy and emotion that stems from experiencing pure physical joy. To build on the love story, we have to see what draws our trio of hapless lovers together, separates them, defines them and ultimately destroys them.

Slainte.

III. Ada Wong, I presume? – The Bitch in Red

:::::::::::::::::::::::::THREE::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it; those who do, will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, will never...never forget it."

-Curtis Judalet

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

The Canadian cold would be the death of her. Forget relentless struggles with psychotic, genetically modified megalomaniacs bent on world domination; the cold was going to be her undoing. She was nearly sure of it.

The parka she wore was insulted and the vest beneath warm and secure but Ada Wong was cold. She was cold in her bones. She was cold in her chest and feet. And she hated being cold.

She watched the people shifting and moving in the town below. She saw their faces and listened to their voices. From where she was perched on the highest point of the north mountain range, Ada Wong was the perfect set of eyes to watch the sleepy little village below.

Why was she there?

She'd been tossing that question around for some time. She'd gotten intel several weeks before that had guided her to a remote part of Quebec. A simple matter of masterful interrogation had netted her the answers she'd been seeking for quite some time. Officials with too many drinks were the best source of information.

The direct conflict of what she wanted and what was right came in to play often when she set out on a mission. She was freelance now and had been known to play two sides against each other. She worked with the BSAA when it suited her; she picked up jobs for the other side when it did as well. She rarely compromised her own set of personal morals to serve a lesser god of course so often, lately, she'd been known to tread carefully in the darkness.

The intel she'd collected had insisted that the cloning project she'd been tracking for months was operating in full swing in this sleepy little hamlet. The few pieces of research she'd failed to destroy with Simmons had been bought and sold a dozen times since that fateful trip to China some years before. She'd burned the lab and the findings but not before some masterful little monkey had taken just enough to auction off her DNA to the highest bidder.

Someone out there had the keys to human cloning. She was here because as much as often was known to look the other way for experimentation; the idea that someone was trying to make another inferior version of herself was just annoying enough to get her dead set on destruction. Once she was set, of course, there was no stopping her. And woe befall anyone who stepped in her way.

The official in Quebec with verbal diarrhea had been happy to share the news that the most recent person to purchase the classified intel had ties to the former arms dealer, recently deceased, known as Glenn Arias. It was interesting that any of Arias' associates had made it out of New York alive. Leon was generally better at cleaning up mess then that especially with the BSAA backing the operation. It seemed though that both Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy had failed at stopping the spread of Arias' madness after all because someone here in this remote iceburg of a town was up to no good. And she'd be damned if she had to go to poorly dressed toe with another inferior doppelgänger.

She was here to stop that from happening.

Down below in the pretty little town square, the people all went happily about their hum drum lives. Could they possibly begin to comprehend the danger they were in? Did they realize how close the devil was to their own back door? She doubted it. People rarely lived in constant awareness of their own fragile mortality. It seemed life was less sweet when one knew that death was a constant, persistent traveler on the coat tails of life.

She lifted the binoculars to her face and zoomed in as the diner door opened and the man inside jogged swiftly down the steps. Handsome, clearly, and alert to the situation even though the body looked relaxed. She could see the intelligence and the awareness written from head to toe.

Why was she here?

She was wise enough to know when to lie and also when, to be honest. He was another reason she was here. Naturally, she was never far from him.

Leon Kennedy. The boy who'd stood over her in Raccoon City. The man who'd stood over her in Tatchi. Leon Kennedy. The warrior, the mystery.

He was her enigma. Of all the things in her life that made sense; he remained the thing that most confused her. He should have been so simple and the fascination with him, and his poster boy good looks coupled with his nearly unflappable good nature, should have been generic at best and tedious at worst. What was it about him that stuck with her all these years?

She was a vain enough woman to love the package he presented. Leon was articulate and well dressed. He was educated and charming when the mood suited him. He was handsome and fit and possessed a somewhat enviable skill at dancing. He knew how to move, to fight, to find his way with little more than wit and good luck. He was something. And he should have given up the fight, married a nice home spun milk maid, settled down and popped out a couple of brats by now.

What kept him in the battle?

She tracked him across the square as he paused and spoke softly to a man sitting on the fountain. He turned then and moved toward a skinny little urchin that exited the pharmacy and jogged happily toward him. And there. THERE. There it was. There it was indeed.

Ada zoomed in a little closer on them. The skinny little girl touched his arm and smiled at him. It should have been harmless but there was something on that pretty elfin face that gave Ada pause. It was a look that one saved for a lover. It spoke of intimacy and passion. It was nearly indefinable to someone not particularly adept at reading human emotion.

That skinny little urchin was in love with him.

Ada turned the binoculars to his face now and watched him. The look on his face was controlled, careful, but at the last possible second he defied her own assessment – he touched the girl. A simple gesture of a squeeze to her elbow. It should have been nothing and was very nearly everything. The iceman had let the little urchin girl under his guard. If he'd turned that skinny body against the wall and fucked her in broad daylight, it wouldn't have been more obvious to the bitch in red.

Ada rose. She didn't yet realize she'd been tapping her foot for some time.

So…that was how the wind blew. That was where the tide had turned. She shouldn't have been surprised. It was inevitable that he'd find someone eventually. But something in her had always kind of assumed he'd chase her forever. It was a blow to the ego to realize he'd given up the chase for a skinny little boy/girl with nothing more than a pretty smile.

Ada shifted toward her gear carefully arrange in the outcropping where she was set up. The little portable heater she'd brought was warm on her cold face as she crouched down before it and set about warming up her frozen skin. She rubbed her hands together, frowning.

Honestly, he was useless to her if he wasn't a pathetic little puppy chasing after her affection. What good was he if he couldn't be manipulated? He would be just another thorn in her side without any hope of help. She'd have to eliminate him which rankled a bit as he had become quite a helpful fount of information for her in an indirect manner of speaking.

She rose now and sighed. Well, she knew what had to be done of course. She'd put it off long enough. She'd played the game all these years perfectly save for that night after Tatchi where she'd almost gone too far. Lord but it would have been something to have let it go too far. Who would have thought that he'd be quite the lover?

She appreciated a good lover. And she'd known, somewhere inside, that he'd have probably made one if she'd have let him. But she'd never quite allowed it to get that far. It was more fun to torture him and, yes, herself with the flirtation of it. It allowed her to lead him along like a puppet on a string.

She couldn't have the skinny urchin taking him away from her. Not if she wanted to continue to use him for her own purposes. She had to get him back.

Ada turned back to study the tiny figures in the square. Getting him back came with two potential avenues. If the first one didn't work, well she'd have to take the second. She was hoping for them all that the first one worked.

The first had the potential of something slick, wet, willing and wonderful.

The second...well...the second was covered in blood.

Silver Lake Montana, 2017

Three Weeks Prior

They had made those three days before they'd set out to train for the mission into the worlds longest date. She had never wanted that time to end.

She'd listened to him talk about his childhood. She'd learned he was a hell of a cook. He'd heard all about her failures as a girl to fit in with the rest of the kids she knew because she was so far advanced mentally. She'd told of her adventures in graduating highschool at twelve years old. She mentioned joining STARS and getting a crush on Chris.

He told her about how it had always been easier to just avoid girls. Girls weren't plentiful in all boys boarding schools. And then after highschool he'd gone right into the academy. Raccoon City had driven him away from the idea of a marriage and love so he'd simply avoided it. There was something missing in his tale, some part he wasn't ready to share. But she didn't care.

How could she care?

She'd lain there while he slept beside her. His leg twined with hers, his head on her shoulder, a veritable human pretzel. She'd rubbed her nose against his while he slept and even in sleep he'd absently kissed her mouth. The hard, angry, drunken warrior was soft inside. He was so hurt and lonely, someone and something had left him bitter and lost. She'd traced her hands over him, the muscles, the strength, all put in place to protect something so gentle and loving. She'd put her hand over his heart and felt it beat while he slept. He would never have any idea how he moved her. There was no pity in her for him, never. But there was regret. Regret that she'd come to him so late, that he was nearly over the edge into the darkness and dangling by his fingers.

She'd roused him from sleep that night to love him. She'd kissed him awake in the dark with a warmth and softness that had touched something in his belly that had no name. He'd wanted to ask her, wanted to know what that look on her face had been in the moonlight.

He'd rolled her beneath him, settled himself between her legs. She'd cupped his biceps where he held himself over her, holding her face. "You ok?"

She studied his face, looking at him with something that wanted to cause panic in his gut. "I'm more than ok."

So he'd taken her mouth in a long kiss to stop that look. He didn't want that look. She'd been able to tell that whatever had been on her face had frightened him. He was ok with a little softness. But she was afraid she'd had love on her face in that moment. And he'd rejected it. Softly, yes, but he'd rejected it.

He so so lost, so lonely. He wasn't ready for love. So she'd wait. She figured she would be able to tell when he was ready.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

Present Day

Rebecca Chambers stood there watching him eat. She watched the way his eyes shifted, the way they were constantly and completely aware of everything around him. He was formidable in a way that had no name. He was so utterly and completely close to being a legend amongst those who knew what they did. The legendary Leon S. Kennedy. A god amongst men.

And he was so terribly hurt, so terribly lost. A brilliant facade to show the world with so much depth and feeling, so much MORE under it all. He was wonderful and complex and complicated and raw. She was kinda in love with him.

Kinda in love with him?

She was completely in love with him.

Utterly and kind of desperately.

He turned his head as if he'd known she was thinking of him. He caught her watching and winked at her through the glass. She smiled back and waved.

She should go in, have breakfast with him. But she pressed a hand to her stomach to stop the butterflies. Would he ever know it? Would he ever know how she felt when he was close? How she could feel him inside her, even now, like a sweet song that never stopped playing? She so wanted to go in and sit across from him. Just so she could watch him had an errand to run first.

The pathetic girl crush truth of that simple need is exactly why she wouldn't do it. Nope. Not even a little bit. She wasn't 18 years old anymore watching Chris Redfield fight a tyrant on the rooftop. She was a grown woman. She would NOT stare starry eyed at another man and let him reduce her IQ to that of a desperate puppy. She had an errand to run first.

Besides, she had an errand to run first.

She moved through the small town, studying the buildings. Joel came with her, making notations in his phone and using his recorder. She'd known Joel for years. He was a book nerd through and through. He charted, he made notes, he studied and calculated. He didn't do anything without running probabilities and using formulas.

They passed by the small local pharmacy. "Joel?"

"Hmmm?" He was taking pictures now with his phone. "Can you wait here for a minute?"

"Can you wait here for a minute?"

"Sure. I gotta run some probabilities anyway to determine the spread of infection if a virus here were to be airborne. Take your time."

Rebecca sighed a little. "Thanks."

She stepped into the little shop, listening to the delighted jingle of the bell above the door. Behind the counter, a young girl waved. She was pretty and maybe eighteen. Her sunny yellow hair was set above black eyebrows and pretty brown eyes.

"Why hello! Can I help you?"

Rebecca took a deep breath and said, "Actually yes…."

Back at the diner, Leon was listening to a rather important conversation. "So she was just standing there, ya know? She was just…staring. And she was real quiet. I was like what's wrong, Betty? And she was just staring."

He shifted a little to hear more of the conversation.

"Then she smiles. Kinda…creepy. She just smiles. And offers to make me dinner. Been missing for three days…shows up like nothing happened and makes pot roast."

The other man in the conversation snorted. "Been seeing that more and more lately. You send her to Dr. Dubois?"

"Yeah. Dropped her off this morning. But I mean what can she do? The only symptom is she doesn't seem like herself. What kind of sickness is that?"

Leon sipped his coffee, his ears perfectly tuned to what they were saying. He let his hands absently scribble on the notepad in front of him so he looked busy.

"You know that Chuck said Ashley came home and acted the same way. Marty down by the pier? Said Sheila was gone for a week."

Women.

He paused with his coffee to his mouth.

Only women? Interesting.

He jotted down the word "female" on his pad and surrounded it with a big question mark. He would be curious to see what Rebecca had to say on the issue. What was being planned and why did it involve only women?

The two men talking had left the diner now and Leon rose, leaving a large tip on the table. The food had been excellent. He was sure it had about three thousand calories in it and he'd have to run five miles to work it off, but it had been worth it.

He winked at Enid as he passed, jogging down the steps of the diner to scan the street. The cold rose up to slap at your face when you came outside, signifying that winter was in full blast. His eyes moved to the bustling water of the bay, taking in the time, the likely temperature of the water, and calculating how long it would be before hypothermia set in and you died. He processed the distance from one building to the next in run time, he made a map in his head of potential cover in the event of being pinned down with gun fire, he studied the terrain to determine the fastest way to get from where he stood to safety.

His brain went into survival mode. It processed like a machine and let him know how far it was from here to the surrounding buildings in terms of taking a shot, it let him know the wind resistance to counter act a sniper shell, it told him that without a jacket on in this temperature he'd survive about six hours before his body shut down. He knew where to run, where to hide, how to survive in a place he'd barely been in for two hours.

Behind his expensive Phantom sunglasses, he made sense out of every curve, length of road, and possible scenario. He whistled as he walked now, seemingly nonchalant about almost every aspect of what was currently running through his head. But he was a predator and he was very aware of how fast he could kill the guy who was fifteen feet away from him on his cellphone. He was equally aware of two women following behind him chattering on about how they were going to take the ferry into town to go shopping.

He crossed the street, listening to the hail and well met tolling of the local clock tower telling him it was officially noon. He found Joel sitting on a bench in the town square rapidly tapping away on his phone. The square was classic, offering the viewer four different avenues to side streets and a large, beautiful stone fountain in the middle complete with a goose whose beak spilled water in a bubbling rush. Music spilled from one of the local shops in the square offering the ears a dainty chorus of what possibly was polka.

"Joel."

The skinny man startled, glancing up with his mouth hanging open. "Leon! Goodness gracious! Guess what!?"

"What?"

"I may have found the perfect place to set up surveillance of the town. Given the direct ratio of wind and potential pattern of storms, it should be JUST RIGHT!"

"Eh..Cool." Leon rocked back and forth for a moment with his hands in his pockets. "Get with the other two guys on getting started on it. You seen Rebecca?"

"She's in the pharmacy." Joel was already hurrying back toward the hotel.

As if one queue, she emerged from the pharmacy and hurried toward him. He smiled at her as she approached, looking pink in the cheeks and excited. "So I found my favorite shampoo! Can you believe that? I can't believe they sell it here."

He grinned into her sweet face, touched by the simple pleasure of something so mundane. "Better than having to use Pert Plus or something I guess. What do you think they'd call it here…Hoser Hair Tonic?"

Rebecca blinked, blinked again, "How about: It's Eh Ok, Sorry Shampoo?"

Amused, he gripped her arm. "And I thought my jokes were bad. Also I think that we're stereotyping."

"Just a little bit."

They started back through the square. She sort of desperately wanted to hold his hand. Was that bad? She didn't think he'd let her anyway. So she contented herself with brushing arms as they walked.

"Joel mentioned having the perfect place for surveillance."

"Good. He's socially stunted, yes, but brilliant."

"I have no doubt." They paused at the motel. "I was going to take a walk around town a little more, maybe check out the abandoned fishing village a little farther out. You want to tag along?"

Rebecca smiled a little as she opened her room door. "I do actually but I have some research stuff to go over with Joel that should really get set up before dark. But I have something to give you before you head out." She glanced around a little and tugged on his arm. Curious, he followed her into the doorway of her room.

She closed it swiftly behind him.

"I'm not sure wh-"

She pushed him against the room door and sealed their mouths together. His brain fell out of his ass and made a duhhhh sound as it plummeted into his groin. He gathered her close and kissed her, lifting her off the floor against him as he knocked her little beanie hat off her head. Her hands tried to find parts of him under his coat to feel up but he was pretty heavily outfitted for combat.

They both drew apart, laughing a little.

"Oh."

"I just wanted you to have that for later."

"Well…"He laughed, adjusted his coat, "Um..thank you."

"Sure." Rebecca giggled a little and opened the door for him. He passed by, the legend Leon S. Kennedy, and she snaked a hand over his ass as he went giving it a hard, very sexist slap afterward. She didn't think anyone would believe her if she told them he blushed. She made the iceman blush by feeling him up. She delighted in the fact that he stumbled a bit as he exited and then coughed to cover it.

"I meant to do that."

"Of course."

"You little minx. You sure you don't want me to stay?"

She did. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to stay and to marry him and to make love him to him a dozen times a day for the rest of their lives. But he'd probably run screaming if she said that. So she said, "It's cool. But I'll see you later?"

"Oh yeah. Yes. Yep."He winked at her again. "I usually require someone to purchase me food before I let them grab my ass by the way."

"Well in that case...How about dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it. What do they serve for dinner in the great white north?"

"Canadian bacon?"

He paused, shook his head, and chuckled. "That's breakfast, Chambers. Not dinner."

"Whatever! Leon!"

He stopped, turned a little to smile at her over his shoulder. She hurried out the door, glanced around to be sure they were not being watched, and he caught her as she leapt. He grunted from the force in which she grabbed him but laughed. "You know...for me to come back, you gotta let me leave first."

She smiled and kissed him. It lasted a handful of seconds and she loved that his cheeks were pink from it again when she drew back. "I'm going to miss you."

He set her down and watched her scurry back to the room. He was going to miss her too. It surprised him to know it. He'd gotten used to her being around. He was coming to rely on the feeling of having her close to him. He wasn't sure what that meant. But it was an odd feeling for him.

She watched him climb into the all-terrain vehicle and waited until it was gone from sight before she went back into her room.

He angled the vehicle up the mountain path, driving deftly through the snow covered streets. The fishing village at the edge of the town had been abandoned when the bottom fell out of the trade economy some years prior. It was little more than boarded up buildings and ramshackle, dilapidated ghosts of a once prosperous endeavor now. But it was a hell of a place to set up a bad guy hideout as well.

There was limited visibility this high up in the mountains and the altitude gave rise to a host of other physical symptoms for those unprepared. He could feel the added labor of breathing alone to his lungs as he parked and alighted from the vehicle, scanning the thatched and faded roofs. Most of the huts up here were small and gathered in groups of six or eight. Some still showed signs of durability but most were trying to fall in on themselves with broken doors and boarded up windows.

Leon pulled his sidearm out of habit, keeping it loose but ready in his hands as he walked. He cleared a few huts with a standard stop and sweep and then set about trying to see if there was really anything relevant up here at all. He came across scatters of papers in a few huts but most were faded and scrawl on them illegible. The path that curved up through the village led to a large more substantial building.

This was clearly the foreman's house. It was bigger, more well maintained. It was made entirely from brick and had good thick windows that were in good shape. The roof looked carefully managed as well. He wondered if someone still lived in it.

A knock on the door yielded no answer so he moved around the back of the building through a side garden gate. The back garden was dead in winter and overrun with fossilized weeds and undergrowth. It looked forlorn and sad instead of slumbering as much of the town at the base of the valley did in the dead of winter. Clearly this garden hadn't been touched in some time.

Snow was piled six inches deep in places and the walk way showed no evidence of foot prints. The more he poked around, the more he doubted anyone lived here. He tried the back door of the house and found it unlocked.

Leon pushed the door wide and came in strong, sweeping his pistol from one side to the other as he cleared the bottom floor. The house was empty and chilly, the brick having turned it into a nearly freezing tomb. He dug through some drawers in the empty, dusty kitchen and looked through the main living area but turned up nothing more than a few old photos and three inches of dust over faded furniture.

He moved slowly up the staircase and paused, listening.

Someone was in the room at the top of the stairs. He listened harder but couldn't make out anything but the distant crackle of a working fireplace. The door was open, inviting him toward the heat of the room.

He moved into it, sweeping his gun.

The room was empty.

A fire was nicely laid and crackling prettily behind a cast iron grate. He moved toward it instinctively, seeking its warmth and allure. This room was pretty and clean, neat and functional. It was a study of sorts with a desk and a library of books stacked on pretty mahogany shelves behind it. A sofa and two plump leather armchairs in burgundy sat before the fire on a rug that appeared handwoven and rich in texture. A grandfather clock began to gong loudly in its place beside the far way, heralding the arrival of a new hour. The mantel above the fireplace contained a portrait, he stepped a little closer to see the face within the glass and realized he shouldn't linger. He clearly wasn't alone here after all.

Someone lived in this room.

He started to turn and the barrel of a gun pressed into his spine.

He froze, took a deep breath. "Don't shoot."

"Drop the gun."

He held his pistol out to the side and turned it, letting it fall uselessly to the floor on the plush carpet. A bare foot kicked it, sending it spinning away toward the desk. "Hands behind your head."

The voice was low and quiet but familiar. He lifted his hands and steepled them behind his head. "I'm not here to hurt you. I was cold and curious. That's it."

Hands began to pat him down now, shifting his clothes in place to divest him of his knife and his spare gun strapped to his thigh. "The way you are armed says otherwise."

"I'm always armed."

"But not dangerous?"

"Nope. Gentle like a baby."

The patting hand skimmed over the crotch of his pants and paused there. Leon lifted a brow a little. So his attacker was a pervert? The voice did sound female. He honestly didn't know how he felt about having to smack the shit out of a groping girl but there was a first time for everything.

"That's not a weapon." His voice was very, very, very dry.

"Oh I'd say it is. Just not the kind I can take," A set of lips settled at the back of his left ear, "Or maybe I can after all."

He shifted, the attacker shifted, he rolled his left side toward her and she moved into him. Leon gripped her wrist to pull her into an over the shoulder throw and paused when he saw her face. She followed through with her move though. She elbowed him clean in the solar plexus and spun herself back into a beautiful back flip. Her long, long leg swept up and just missed kicking him square in the face as she did. If he wouldn't have stumbled back, she'd have hit him clean in the nose.

"Ada!"

She smiled as she landed, aiming the gun at him. "Leon – long time, no see."

His eyes flicked sideways to the gun on the floor by the desk. She followed the flicker and smiled slyly. "Try it."

She patted her thigh holster that held his back up piece and gestured with her gun at his combat knife that lay forlornly now on the other side of the room. "Pick your poison."

He should have never underestimated her. All the years he'd known her. All the years she'd danced circles around him. He should have known she'd never threaten idly.

Leon shifted and made a dive toward his gun, rolling through the motion. He gripped it in his hand and her gun went off. All of it happened in a matter of moments.

The bullet struck his bullet proof vest right over the chest, stopping his heart, stealing his breath as the burst of pain and surprise broke his smooth roll into a fumble. He skidded out of the roll from the impact and smashed into the desk, curling around his chest.

"Bitch!" His voice was hoarse with pain.

She moved toward him, swift and pretty, like a viper. She kicked the pistol away again from his hand and knelt. Her left hand gripped his vest and jerked him up to a sitting position against the desk.

"Why are you here?"

The thump of his heart was hard in his ears. The vest had done its job, she'd known it would, but it the bullet had done its job as well and scared ten years off his life. He eyed her with a fine, spiraling rage brewing in his belly.

"None of your fuckin business."

She pressed the barrel of the gun to his chin, forcing his face to tilt back and up toward her. She jerked his sock hat off his head and tossed it away. Her fingers tunneled into his hair and jerked, holding him still. The gun barrel in his chin was just shy of bruising.

"I don't bluff. Answer the question."

"None…of…your…fuckin…business.." He drew each word out slowly, harshly, dragging them between his teeth.

Ada cocked her head, studying him. "You colored your hair."

His brain tried to shift topics quickly. "What?"

"You colored your hair. And…" She released her hold in his hair and traced her fingers over his chin, "A beard? I'd say it doesn't suit you…but it does in a way."

There, she thought, there was that confusion in those blue eyes. He watched her, warily. "Let me go, Ada."

Ah. A loaded statement. She slid the hot barrel of the gun down the line of his throat, traced her fingers over his mouth. "Is that really what you want?"

He opened his mouth to say yes and she put her lips against his to whisper against him, "It's good to see you again, Leon."

He wasn't sure what he was going to say, his words were stolen by the spill of her tongue into his mouth. Not fast, not hard, soft and smooth. She kissed him like she was dying for a taste of him. The gun slid down his throat and bumped against his belly as she let it go.

It fell to the floor in a clatter of metal.

She shifted to straddle him on the floor, sealing their mouths together as her tongue traced the curve of his lips and begged for permission to be let inside. He opened his mouth and let her in. His hands came up and slid around her.

She wasn't dressed for winter. This was what his mind told him as he pulled her in to him. She was dressed casually, easily. She wore a red tank top over black skinny jeans followed by pretty bare feet. She wasn't dressed like she'd come in from outside.

She was dressed like she'd been here all along.

Leon put his hands on her shoulders to move her back from him and she released the buttons on his trench coat, seeking him beneath his clothes. "Ada…wait…stop."

The taste of her thrilled him, stole his reason and tossed it into the fire beyond them both. Had he thought it wouldn't? Had he thought he was above it now? Had he? He was a fool.

And it shamed him enough to have him drawing her back now even as he drew his breath in ragged pants.

"Wait." He sounded firm now and sure of himself.

She smiled sweetly and palmed his body through his pants, rubbing at him over his zipper. He shook his head, slowly. "Stop."

"Your body isn't saying stop."

He shook his head, holding her back from him. "Don't. You sound like a rapist."

Ada pushed at his coat and it slid off his shoulders. The shirt he wore beneath was Prada, fashionable and expensive. It was a shade of blue that set off his eyes and made his skin glow in the firelight. She had to admit, she was a little entranced by him. Maybe her own game had taken a bite from her as well but it was a pleasurable bite.

She went to the buckles on his combat vest. The first snapped free easily enough.

"Why are you here, Ada?"

She undid the second buckle on the left side of his vest. That was fine, really, he let her. If it kept her distracted and her hands off his fucking junk, she could take the damn vest. If she kept playing with his dick, he'd lose his mind and probably try to fuck her against the damn wall.

Her hands slid down the zipper of the vest and rubbed at the silk shirt he wore beneath, just over the bruise she'd made with her gun. She'd shot him. SHOT HIM. And he was letting her paw him like a prom date. It was insane.

"Why are you here, Leon?"

She undid the first two buttons of his shirt. He grabbed her hands, stopping her. "You want answers?" Her voice was soft, smooth. She curled her fingers into his shirt and tugged him a little closer to her. "Then play fair. Take off the combat gear."

She rolled off of him and rose. Her pretty bare feet had fire engine red toes. She studied him as he gained his feet, watching her like a mouse watches the snake.

"Gear off. Then we talk."

He dropped the Burberry coat to the floor and added the vest to it. When they stood facing each other in bare feet and casual clothes, she stuck her hands in her back pockets and rocked on the toes of her feet. "Blue is your color, Leon."

"Thanks." The wide cuffs of the shirt were loose over his gloved hands, the wide collar was loose from her roaming fingers. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Start talking."

"I suspect you know why I'm here," They began to circle each other, "Should we share intel?"

He laughed, stopped, watched her. "Why not just seduce me and take my phone again? Why bother asking?"

He tossed her the phone in his back pocket. "There. Save us both the games this time."

She caught the phone and tossed it away. It slid across the desk. She moved toward him.

"It's so much more fun this way. That's why."

He backed up and then stopped, embarrassed because he'd been about to retreat. He held his ground and waited. She gripped his left wrist in her hand and pulled him toward her.

He went, willingly, and turned into her body at the last moment. They grappled, traded twists and restraints. He took a strong elbow to the midsection and spun her out, sweeping at her feet with his leg. She countered, crossed shins with him, and kicked into his knee.

He used the fall from the solid knee kick to take her and roll. Surprised, she felt herself go up and over. She landed on her back on the carpet, regaining her breath. He moved above her and she humped her hips, putting her feet into his stomach. She grabbed his shirt as he was tossed into a smooth arc, rolling her body as she used his own momentum to swing him. He skidded out of the toss and hit the couch, taking it with him as he went over it.

He landed on the other side and kept on rolling until he was on his feet.

She dropped low and missed the smooth roundhouse and he threw at her head, sweeping her leg out to take his from him. He went into a roll and came up to grapple with her again. She spun an elbow that he deflected; he put her in a headlock that she reversed. They body rushed at each other and neither gave ground. So she finally let him push her backward with his full strength. She laughed as they both tumbled back and hit the desk, sliding across it with him on top of her.

They hit the floor together and the impact took her breath away.

"Are you alright?"

Her eyes opened to find his face startlingly close. She answered, softly. "Yes."

He started to shift off of her and she caught his shirt and held him there. "I think I've missed you, Leon."

What was surprising to her was that she meant it. She meant it. She had missed him. And so her own game had come full circle. She had feelings for him. They were messy and convoluted but they were real. Whatever they were, they were nothing next to the purpose of what she did here. But it complicated things.

Leon wasn't sure what to think or feel. He knew the inside of his head and heart looked like a bunch of half finished roadways. A map to nowhere. A map to confusion and dysfunction and sin. He should move off of her. He should. He should go back to Rebecca and tell this bitch to take a long leap off a short cliff.

The bitch in red.

She was a succubus that spread her seed of obsession inside the fertile ground of his naïve nature and let something dark, twisted, and desperate bloom. She was a witch that haunted and taunted him with her terrible magic touch. She was a siren whose song called to his soul. She was…his darkness; the thing that lived and breathed inside of him and welcomed him into the inner sanctum of his own greed to promise things in oily whispers in the night. She tempted him to cut himself and bleed his boiling darkness all over them both. She called to his darkness and it was something he could never share with Rebecca.

He ground himself against her and startled them both.

Her eyes glazed and went hooded with want. "You've missed me too."

He ground harder against her, forcing both of them to catch their breath with it. "Yes," And it came out between his clamped teeth, angry, "Bitch."

"Yes," She grabbed his face, "I am."

They kissed, wet and hungry. He fucked her mouth with his tongue and she laughed against his lips, delighted. Her hands grabbed at him, jerked his clothes. The world started to spin and spiral, fast and furious. He felt something shift and change, felt the spear of it inside of him. He put his teeth to her breast through the tank top and she ripped his shirt from him in a spill of silk and buttons. It was left open over his chest as she jerked at his belt, whisking the leather tongue between the loops furiously.

He jerked on her pants, breaking the zipper of her jeans in his haste. She laughed again, sinfully, wickedly. It spurred him forward. Now he knew, now he knew what he'd been missing all these years. He'd tasted what was on the other side of his own hunger. He'd had it, hungered for it, and now needed it like a man possessed.

The skinny little jeans she wore were practically torn from her body in his mindless hurry. She pushed him to his back and climbed atop him now, eating him from the mouth down. The silky blue shirt cocooned around them as he lifted his upper body off the ground to jerk her against him.

The kiss was savage, desperate; it robbed them both of their breath. She jerked down his zipper and pulled him free into her smooth hands. Undone, he grabbed handfuls of her hair to force her mouth to his and kiss her so hard their teeth clicked.

The hands on his body were relentless and then gone. He opened his eyes but before he could do more then make out her silhouette above him, she'd cupped him again and this time she slid herself onto him. He couldn't stop her, hadn't known she was going to. He felt the wet, hot, silky heat of her close around his dick like a mouth, sucking and sealing them together.

She moaned, he cursed and his hands bracketed her hips to hold on to her. It was better than the fantasies. Better then the dark and dirty thoughts he'd had all these years in quiet rooms. She moved atop him, smoothly, lithely, lifting and anchoring herself upon his body in facile and fluid ride.

He shifted his upper body until they were facing each other now, his hands sliding up her back to cup her toward him. They kissed, smooth and deep, wet and he felt the building need become sharp and painful inside of him. He shifted to pull her away and she changed the pace, faster, harder, deeper. He could barely do more than mutter, "Oh god..wait.."

And it was too late. Didn't matter. Couldn't matter. He gripped her waist to smash her down against him and the thunder over came him. The orgasm nearly killed him, he'd been right about that. It burst out of his body like a living thing, tearing a gasping cry from his mouth that was loud and desperate. He pushed her to her back, anchored one of her legs over his shoulder, and plowed it into her, shoving his body hard and fast as he came, a grunting, gasping, rutting beast with no regard to her needs.

It felt like he came forever and, finally, collapsed atop her, gasping. He could feel himself shivering, could feel her doing the same. The sweat was slick and sticky between them. His ear lay against her chest, feeling the hard, fast, knocking of her heart.

In the aftermath, he could feel the panties still on her. She'd done nothing more then move them to the side. The lacy, satiny panels of black torture brushed against his the springy hair on his groin, teasing. The silence was pregnant around them, filled with so many unsaid things. He stole wore his pants, lewdly open and down around his thighs. She still wore her top; half ripped at the neck and pulled up to show her perfectly toned belly.

It had been as she'd thought it'd be. Amazing. He was virile, clearly pent up. He fucked like a freight train, fast and desperate, nearly deliberately cruel to punish them both. She delighted in the feel of it. He would make a delicious lover and now she had him, she could feel it. She had him right in the palm of her hands. And he had her, which surprised her as well; he had her in ways she had no name for. He had her in ways she couldn't begin to define.

He lifted his head and she felt her body tighten around his softening length at the sleepy, satisfied, sated look on his face. She was aroused by his innocence just as she'd been all those years ago when they'd met in that filthy garage.

Raccoon City, 1998

He was so handsome. Young. The soft reddish blonde of his hair was perfect even if it was damp with sweat. She stared at him from the ground where she was crouched, thinking he looked less like a cop than any man she'd ever met.

"Are you alright?"

He hurried toward her and extended her a hand. She took it and rose, watching him. "I'm fine. It didn't get me."

The corpse of the dispatched drooling dog lay steaming some distance away, bleeding from a clean shot between its ugly rotting eyes. He glanced at it, then at her, checking her for injury. "I thought it was going to eat you."

Ada smiled a little and studied him in that ugly RPD uniform he wore. God he was young. What was he? 20? She shifted her character to a more damsel in distress. She knew a young, handsome, hero cop would just love that.

She touched his arm, gave him wide eyes. "I did too! Thank god my boyfriend John taught me to use this thing! I NEVER thought I'd have to!"

He nodded, patted her hand. "Me too. Come on. You'll stay with me for now. I might be the last cop alive in this building. I'm Leon Kennedy."

"Ada. Ada Wong. I'm looking for John. He's a researcher here. Do you know him?"

The young cop shook his head and they stayed close together, moving toward the blocked doors that would take them to the labs. Of course, he didn't know that. But Ada did. She knew she had to get rid of him before that but for now, she could use the muscle.

"I'm sorry. It's my first day on the job. I don't know anyone. I just…I showed up and it was like this. I was with another girl, Claire. Do you know her? We got separated and promised to meet here if we could."

"No. I don't know her." Ada mentally assessed the likelihood some random girl would survive the hellish nightmare that had been unleashed on the streets beyond the station. It seemed unlikely that anyone would. And yet…here was the hero cop. And he looked unharmed. Frightened, yes but steady. "Officer Kennedy…"

"Please. Leon."

"Leon," She hung on his arm and gestured, "I think John might have gone that way but the door is blocked. I think a lot of people were hiding out down there trying to stay alive."

Leon nodded and moved with her. "Let's get this way open then."

They pushed together to free the door from the impeding cover of the nose to nose police cars that barred the path. Grateful for the extra strength, Ada even let him tail her into the sewers beneath. She told him little, let him believe she was some simpering idiot. She discovered he was inherently kind, somewhat naïve, and actually believed the serve and protect crap that cops were always spouting.

She was a little charmed by him when they turned the corner when they came across Bertolucci in his cell and when he chased after her to try to protect her and came face to face with Annette Birkin. Ada froze, hesitated, and Annette started talking, "BITCH! YOU BITCH! The bitch in red! I should have known! You've come to take it! Well you CAN'T HAVE IT!"

Annette lifted the gun.

"Wait wait! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"YOU WON'T TAKE WILLIAMS RESEARCH! YOU FUCKING SPY!"

The gun went off and Ada felt the world shift and come back together. She felt over herself to see where she was shot. Blood was dripping down her chest.

But it was the hero cop who was injured. He was sprawled atop her breathing heavily.

The bullet had hit him in the back and entered his armpit to burst cleanly out of his chest. He gripped it with his free hand and rolled to the floor beside her. The blood pooled around him.

Ada rose, hesitated, turned…and stopped.

She turned back, hesitated, stopped. Cursing herself, she knelt beside him. He was pale and pretty badly wounded. She helped him up and with his arm over her shoulders, guided him to the aid station down the hallway.

She took him out of his uniform top while he hissed in pain. She cleaned the wound and bound him, treating him with a kindness she'd long thought dead. But he was so young. He was so sincere. He lifted his eyes and looked at her as she wrapped his chest. His blue, blue eyes met hers and the lashes were long and pretty. He was so handsome.

Ada glanced at his mouth, felt him shift a little toward her. She leaned down to press her mouth to-

A shriek set up somewhere in the distance. She pulled back, surprised at her own weakness.

Amazed that she'd actually WANTED to kiss him, she instead helped him get his ragged uniform back on over the bandage. "I'm sorry." And more surprises, she MEANT it.

"What was she shouting about, Ada?"

"I don't know. I don't know her. She looked insane to me."

She felt something at having to lie to him. And it was made worse yet as he held her at the bottom of that drop, near the boiling, blazing lava beneath. She was so weak, so cold, the world was spinning. She was bleeding badly, the talon having burst in and out of her body as she'd leapt to protect him.

Why? Why had she protected him? What hadn't she let him die? It would have saved them both so much trouble. He'd never make it in this world. He was simply too good. She should kill him and save him. He scooped her sweaty hair back from her face.

She lay in his arms and his face…his face so dirty, covered in blood and filth, sweat and survival…and tears. He was crying. He was crying as he held her. So sweet and gentle, this man. That was why she'd leapt in front of him. Dark as she was, jaded as she, she knew…she KNEW that the world needed men like Leon Kennedy. Otherwise, there was no hope left for any of them.

"Ada…"He pressed his hand over her chest, stopping the blood that pumped uncontrollably. "Oh god…what can I do? Why?"

She lifted a hand to cup his cheek and draw him down to her. She wanted to know, just in this moment before death claimed her, she wanted to know what his kiss tasted like. She wanted to know what hope tasted like. Hers had died years ago in the dirty streets of China where a little girl had grown to be a spy.

He made some sound of grief and kissed her. It was gentle and sweet and so very soft. She smiled a little as the lights dimmed and the darkness finally claimed her. "Leon..I'm sorry."

He'd cried out her name as she slipped away into the warmth of death.

When she'd awoken, very much alive, she realized that even in near-death she'd completed her mission. She'd been rescued from that firey pit with a sample of the G-Virus in her possession after all. The government had another in the form of Sherry Birkin. And Umbrella…well they'd sent in their dirty henchman H.U.N.K. to retrieve another. It was possible they'd simply taken what was left of Birkin himself from the wreckage of Raccoon before sanitation had occurred.

She'd laid on the cot in the recovery facility of her employer and felt the loss of something. What? What was that loss? It was something in the form of Leon Kennedy.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

He started to shift off of her and she locked her ankles behind his flanks to hold him.

"Where are you going?"

"Ada…" He leaned back to look into her face. In the absence of the passion, there was something on his face she was hating. It was almost…regret. She looped her fingers into his shirt to hold him to her.

Her voice was soft and meaningful. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't run."

His arms were bracketed beside her head in a push up motion. His eyes rapidly scanned her face now, searching for something. She didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know if he would find it. "Why? You always run. What is this, Ada? What are you doing here?"

She lifted her hips and he was still inside her. Both of them made some sound of surprised excitement. He pressed his forehead against hers and took a deep shaky breath.

"What are you doing to me?"

Ada kissed him, gently. "I meant what I said. I missed you, Leon. Why does it have to be more than that?"

He looked almost…sad. Sad. She didn't like the sad. It made her feel like she'd done something wrong. They'd acted on impulse, they'd satisfied each other. Why was that sad?

"It's always more with us, Ada. How can anything ever be simple?"

She lifted her hips again and he moved against her, unable to resist. Her hands slid up his arms, over his back under the silky shirt. Part of him hated himself for this, for whatever this was or wasn't or wouldn't ever be. And part of him felt that fire filled beast in his belly that would always want her. He'd thought…what? That'd once he'd had her, the beast would quiet?

Was he that naïve?

Did he think passion died that easily? Did he think he'd be sated with one taste of her?

She kissed him, drawing his thoughts back to her beneath him. Jesus. There she was. That face that launched a thousand ships. His Helen of Troy.

He felt something like pain in his chest now. Pain. Was the pain Rebecca? Rebecca. REBECCA. The sweetness and gentleness and loving respect she'd shown him. And this was how he repaid her? By nailing a traitor, a spy, a bitch in red on the floor of some dirty old building? He was a disgrace to himself…to his country. And he didn't deserve Rebecca. Or the sweetness she'd offered.

Part of him thought he deserved the torturous game that Ada played with him. Happiness? Never. He deserved the darkness.

And god help them both he wanted it. Whatever this was. Whatever this meant. If it meant nothing or everything or cost him pieces of himself or all of himself, he wanted this moment with her. He shifted and pulled her shirt over her head. She pushed his off his shoulders.

They rolled, once, twice and the pants managed to join the rest of the clothes somewhere on the floor. She rose above him. His hands moved to her hips and jerked, pulling the flimsy little panties she wore with a sigh of ripping silk. He cupped her hips, traced the line of her taut belly, cupped her breasts.

He lifted his upper body to pull her to him and she straddled him as they kissed, lost in the moment of the feel of flesh and fervent need. She murmured his name as they feasted on each other; two vampires desiring the blood of the other. The shame of his own want of her spurred him harder, pushed him faster, plunged his body deeper into her.

The human condition was a mystery, remained a mystery; it allowed them to crave each other without regard for the damage they did to themselves, to others. Ada let the feel of him wash over her, through her, she reveled in it. She'd known, of course, that she was tying him to her now in a way that would mean damage to them both if things went badly. For better or worse, he was hers now.

Irrevocably aroused by the premise of possessing her own toy, Ada Wong knew this kind of game came at a cost to more than her business. This kind of game came with a cost to her soul. She was stripping him of his own purpose, she was replacing it with hers. She was using her body and his love, to push them both screaming into the darkness.

She'd known, of course, it would come to this. She'd known it that moment they'd met again in Spain all those years ago.

Rojo Indumentaria, Spain 2004

"Try using knives next time," He tossed her gun – sans clip – away, "Works better for close encounters."

"Leon…long time, no see."

What was that thing that happened in her belly at seeing him again? She studied him. The once handsome boy cop. The boy cop was gone although that soft naïvete was still there beneath the surface of the hardened man in front of her. When she'd seen him, when she'd known he'd survived Raccoon…what had she felt? Something that had no name.

Or at least not a name she wanted to say out loud.

"Ada.." He studied her in the low light from beside the bed in the room where they'd finally, finally, come face to face. Of all the people he'd expected, she was the last. "So the rumors were true."

She smiled a little, that sinfully shameless quirk of her mouth. "What rumors?"

"You…workin with Wesker."

She shrugged a little, shifting to circle him. The dress she wore shifted around her as she moved. It was sexy, classy, red and wicked. The bitch in red, someone had said. The bitch in red. He should have known. She was always the bitch in red.

"No answer?"

She shrugged, slid her glasses down her face. "Would any answer satisfy you?"

"Maybe you could start with how you survived Raccoon City."

She smiled again, shrugged those taut, leanly muscled shoulders. "I did. That's all that matters. You did as well. And have done quite well for yourself, I see. Although…you might have gotten a better job, Leon. Really. I think this one is outside of your pay grade."

It was inherently wrong to play with fire but it had been so long…she wanted to touch him. She shifted a little and let him move closer to her. He still balanced the blade in his hand. He still knew she was a threat. He wasn't exactly the same trusting boy he'd been.

She stopped circling and let him get closer. He sensed the game had changed. She'd heard that he'd been trained by some of the best. What she'd seen, what he'd done to get where they were; she believed it. She backed up against the wall and let him put her there. "What are you doing here, Ada?"

"Winning," Ada tilted her head, studying him. "You going to use that big knife on me?"

He glanced down at the knife, having clearly forgotten he held it. She smiled a little and the tips of her fingers brushed his bare arm just above his tactical gloves. It was just a little thing, nothing really…and yet he shivered and so did she.

Ah.

AH.

She tossed the sunglasses. They let off their warning.

"Be careful, Leon. Things are not as they seem here."

The glasses set off their flash bang and he stumbled back. "See you later, Leon." She escaped out the window of the bedroom while he called her name. And she rubbed her fingers together where they tingled.

AHHHH. It was the moment she'd known he was something else to her. Something darker, wider, deeper. She was willing to play the game out to see where it took them.

He was infected at that point. The damn fool Saddler and his idiot henchmen had managed to get their hands on Leon and infected him. They wanted him for their own. She couldn't blame them, he'd proven himself a force to be reckoned with at that point.

Ada set about trying to find a solution to the problem. They'd met up again as the parasite had gotten its hooks deeper in him. The fool, the fucking hero, he'd kept on trying to save the day. She watched him stumble into one of the cold, cold rooms on that island where they'd fled with the girl.

She followed, surprising them both. "Leon…are you alright?"

"Yeah…yeah…I just-" He stumbled, grabbed his stomach and wretched. He made some sound like she'd never heard before of pain and torment. She didn't realize it but she'd grabbed him to help him. It was outside of her character to touch someone unprompted.

"Leon!"

The eyes he turned to her were red, red and ugly and empty. She didn't have time to say a word, his hands wrapped at her throat and squeezed. She was suddenly fighting for her life there against the man she'd been hell bent on saving. Furious she grappled for the small feeding knife she wore in her thigh holster and jerked it free.

Her hand drove it into his outer thigh and her knee smashed into his solar plexus. He grunted and dropped his hands while she gasped for air, she spun loose from him. He stumbled and fell to the floor on one knee. She went to pull her pistol to put him down and he lifted a hand, waving it at her.

"Wait! Wait! Ada!"

She froze with her finger on the trigger.

"It's me! I'm sorry! It's me!"

The eyes were blue that turned to her. "I'm sorry. Put it down."

"You fool. You've let the parasite grow in you. Why? I told you we have to get it out of you."

"We?"

He levered himself to his feet, unsteady. She lowered the gun, reluctantly. "Yes. We. I've been helping you all along. You know that. I haven't been subtle about it."

"Why are you helping me?"

She ignored the question. "Come on. Let's go get it out. I think I know where they have an extraction point."

"I can't."

She turned, eyed him as he swallowed a handful of the restrictive meds Sera had given him. He looked awful. He looked tired and broken and bruised. He looked dirty and hungry and lost. The big hero.

"I have to get Ashley first."

"Leon…"

"She's farther along, you said it yourself. She doesn't have much time. I can't risk it."

"Leon," She faced him, shook her head, "You don't have much time."

"I know that. She has even less. I have to try."

She studied him; his resolve was formidable. Broken, beaten, knocked down and infected and he was still going to try to save the day. She respected him and it surprised her to know it. It also complicated things a little. It didn't change the end game.

At the end of the day she'd stolen the sample from him. She'd completed the mission. But she'd regretted it. And she'd failed one piece of it. The orders had insisted she bring him in. She let him go.

She let him go.

She never did enjoy following orders.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

The crackling of the fire roused her. They were sealed together, legs and body's intertwined on the rug. They'd fallen asleep.

She lifted to look down at him, sleeping with an arm across her, her legs parted and his pressed between. She rubbed herself against the thigh she encircled with her own. The dampness of her had his eyes fluttering open.

They locked gazes, Ada rocking her body against his thigh.

There was something soft and genuine on his face. There was something sleepy and sweet and gentle. There were the obvious signs of aging as well. He had a fine whisper of crows feet beside his beautiful blue eyes. He had a suggestion of smile lines at the corners of his mouth. She didn't realize she was going to trace them with her fingers until she did it.

"Did you get old on me, Leon?"

"We tend to do that."

Somehow he smiled and there in the older face was that boy she'd met in Raccoon City. She craved him, in that moment, she craved both of them. She let the truth fill her up and spill out of her eyes. She felt like she owed him this much truth. And it cost her something to share it, "I want you."

She did. She wanted him. Whatever that meant, who knew. She knew only that she wanted him. And didn't want the other girl to have him. Was it simply jealous possession? Possibly. Love was the wrong word. He'd said love to her. He'd told her he loved her that night after Tatchi.

She didn't think he did. Not really. They were somewhat obsessed with each other after all this time. But love? That wasn't quite right.

She didn't think she was capable of love. Not the kind he wanted. Not the hearts and flowers and babies kind. She didn't want that kind of anchor to hold her down. But she knew only that she wanted him and would do what it took to keep him.

"Ada…" The kiss was different this time, soft. She watched the thunder of it move across his face. Ah. So he didn't want that either. He didn't want her to move him. He didn't want her to make this something else. So she did. She pushed it. Because she knew if tempted him with something more, she'd have him forever.

She was just that good at the game.

She drew him closer to her and angled her body against his as she kissed him. She held his eyes as they did, she cupped his face. She drew his hand against her chest, between her breasts, over her heart. She could hook him with a single set of three words, she knew that. She knew she could get him that way. If she just said love. Although she might play games, she tried to never lie. She bent the truth a little, yes, yes she did. But she never lied.

She drew her mouth back from his. "I saw you with her."

He blinked a little, rapidly, and his eyelids hooded his eyes just a bit. What was that on his face now? Shame? What was he ashamed of? That he'd betrayed Ada? Or that he'd betrayed the other girl?

"What is her name? Rebecca?"

Ah. That was it. He was ashamed that he'd hurt Rebecca. He was a good guy after all.

"You can't have her, Leon." Ada skimmed her fingers up his back. "She's not for you. Do you think you'll settle down and have babies? Do you think she'll make you…whole?"

He started to shift away from her and she held him, thumbs beside his ears, rocking her body on his thigh. His hands slid up and gripped her hips. "Stop it, Ada. Stop playing with me."

"Who's playing?" She nipped at his mouth. "I'm offering you something real."

"You? Are you kidding? This isn't real, Ada. This is a lie. You're a lie. Damnit, what the fuck is wrong with me?" He moved to roll away from her and she let him this time. It was ok. She had him. They both had to know that.

"It's more real than whatever lie you've been telling her."

"I haven't lied to her." He sounded angry now as he rose, hunting up his clothes, "I never lied."

"Did you tell her you love her?" She stayed as she was, lying on her side on the floor, watching him. "Did you promise her the world?"

"Stop it. Just stop it." He picked up his shirt and slipped it on over his briefs. It was quite a sight for her on the floor. All those perfectly defined muscles with a frame of Prada and Armani. The eager socialite in her was thrilled. "She deserves better than this."

"So go back and tell her, you noble fool. Maybe she'll forgive you. Maybe you'll go back to Montana and become farmers."

He shook his head, grabbing his pants from the floor.

"Who are you kidding here, Leon? You aren't a farmer. You're a fighter. It's all you know how to be."

He paused and the look he gave her now was tortured and lost. "I don't want to be that anymore. I don't want to fight. I want to go home and stop fighting."

"Then go," She said it softly as she rose, naked and resplendent. And she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He coveted her and the thunder in his blood at the sight of her. She was unreal, untouchable. Like a white tiger inside of a gilded cage. Beautiful, yes; but it would eat your fucking hand if you tried to pet it. "Go home with your simple girl and live your simple life. Leave saving the world to someone else."

She moved toward him and he stepped back a bit, lifting his hand at her.

"Don't."

She took that hand and guided it down to touch her. He shook his head, a drowning man. "Ada. Let me go."

He sounded nearly desperate. She LOVED it.

"You don't want me to let you go. You never have. And that is what is killing you right now. You might want her…" She stepped into him, released his hand and delighted in the fact he kept it right where it was between her legs. His breath was so shallow she thought he might pass out from it. Her hands slid around his torso and up his back beneath the silky shirt. She drew him down to her and he came, looking so tortured. "You might want her…but you NEED me. And I want you more then you don't want me to have you."

She kissed him while he played his hand between her legs, torturing them both. She rubbed at him through his briefs. They were both breathless when she drew away.

"Go back to her. End it. Do both of you that favor." She pressed her naked breasts against him, rubbed her groin over his and thrilled when it drew a curse from his mouth. "I will come to you later."

"Don't. Please."

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

She slipped from his hands and he gripped the edge of the desk with all his strength, breathing, trying to find his inner steel. What the hell was he doing? What was this? She was toying with him, he knew it. He KNEW it. He knew it in a thousand ways. But he just kept letting her. He just kept getting drawn further into her web.

"Come into my web," said the spider to the fly. He was the fly. He was obsessed with death. And death was all she could offer him. He would die craving her.

"Ada…" He turned and she was gone. The room was empty save for the fire and the soft sounds of the falling snow beyond the window. He was alone.

There was no sign that she had ever been. He glanced around. The couch was over turned, true. But that was it. There was no proof they'd lain on the floor and slept. No proof she'd risen above him like a dark goddess and called his soul from his skin. There was no proof that she'd promised him damnation if he just followed her. Followed her like Nero. Followed her as Rome burned.

The face that launched a thousand ships.

His Helen of Troy.

Back in the village, Rebecca was setting up dinner for them after having spent the afternoon setting up surveillance with Joel. She felt pretty good about it. They'd be able to see most of the town and hopefully something would prove that Dubois was formerly Gomez. She was hoping to have answers by the morning.

But tonight…tonight she was going to spend with Leon. She was hoping to get him to agree to share rooms with her. It seemed like the right thing to do. They were…in some kind of thing together obviously. She didn't want to call it a relationship but it was something. She hadn't been this excited about something in years.

She ran eagerly across the walkway of the motel to his room and knocked. She waited. And knocked again. She waited.

She peeked in his window. The room looked empty.

Maybe he wasn't back yet.

She hurried back to her room and continued to set up dinner. She smiled happily as the door opened and he walked in.

"Hey!" She gestured to the table. "It's fish and brewis. I don't know exactly what that is but Enid said it's salt pork and cod. It's a Canadian staple."

He was in a gray Harvard sweatshirt and old faded jeans. He looked freshly washed and very sexy. She moved toward him eagerly.

"How did it go? Did you find anything?"

"No." He intercepted her hands and held them, squeezed lightly, "Rebecca…"

She leaned up and kissed him, excited to see him. And then she hugged him. Just like that. Just that simple. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him.

Undone, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the smell of her. He lifted her small frame against the front of him, breathing her in. She was safe and soft and sweet and so very loving. She'd given him herself and opened him up to a side of himself he hadn't seen in so long. She'd filled him with light.

Why was he harkening back to the darkness?

She didn't pull away when he touched her. She didn't have some ulterior motive. She wasn't trying to use or abuse or manipulate him. She was just there, she just wanted him. She just wanted to make him laugh and to love him and to fill him with passion and purpose and light.

Light.

Damnit.

He let her go, slowly. She smiled up at him and there it was. There was that darkness on his face that hurt her. That haunting darkness that filled him with such sadness. She touched his face.

"What is it? What happened?"

He cupped her hand against his face and leaned into her touch. He shook his head in answer. It moved her, made her a little more in love with him. He couldn't know how much he needed her. He couldn't see it. He couldn't see how close he was to edge. She could see it, she could feel it. She just wondered if she was going to able to stop him from going over.

She didn't know if he'd come back if he did.

"Are you hungry?" She asked it softly, sweetly.

He shook his head again and gathered her to him. He carried her against him to the bed and laid down with her. She curled against him, smiling.

"Tired?"

"Exhausted. Thank you for dinner. You mind if we eat it when we wake up?"

"Not at all. Busy day?"

"Ridiculously busy. The village is…there's nothing there worth checking out again."

"Really? You didn't find anything at all there? Nothing?"

He scooped her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. And she curled her fingers into his taut stomach beneath his sweatshirt, sighing. He stared at the ceiling as he held her there against, watching the swirls of the darkness and light as they mingled there above him. His voice was soft, lost, and a little desperate, "No. There's nothing there worth seeing again. Nothing at all."

"Okay," Rebecca drew his face over, met his eyes, "You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah." He kissed her, eyes open, watching her. She kissed him back, soft and a little hungry, "Yeah. I'm ok."

He would be. He had to be. He wanted to be. He wanted to be so badly. He wanted to latch onto the light and have it burn the darkness out of him.

He was so afraid the darkness inside of him would meet that light and devour it.

The moonlight spilled across them hours later when they awoke together. He rolled her beneath him, shucked his sweatshirt and felt beneath her for the soft yoga pants she wore. He put his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder.

"Leon?" Her voice was ragged with sleep. She cupped at his head, spiraling her fingers into his hair, "What is it? Are you alright?"

He shook his head and she gasped as he pulled her pants from her, tossing them somewhere in the darkness beyond the bed. "I need you."

Those three little words filled her with a nearly desperate hunger for him. He didn't wait, couldn't wait. She wasn't sure she could either. She pushed his jeans down his hips just enough to feel him against her and he angled her hips to him.

He slid inside of her, merging their bodies smoothly and swiftly. She gasped and he groaned, moving inside of her. He kissed her in the moonlight, deep and hungry.

The need rose up between them and brought her breath in heavy pants. He slid his hands under her soft sweater and palmed her breasts, held them, rolled them. And they made love desperately in the moonlight like two starving things.

I need you, he'd said. And he did. He needed her. If she gave up on him, if she left him now…he didn't know if he'd survive it. The darkness would drag him down, down, deeper and faster and fuller. He'd be lost. He'd be lost in it.

He anchored her hips higher and buried himself inside of her. She gasped, cried out, levered herself around him and gave. She gave. They went over the edge together as he spilled himself inside of her.

She curled around him now in the moonlight, sighing and soft. He stared again at the darkness above the bed…so close. Too close. And trying to whisper its promises in his ears. He held her close to him, a shield against the dark.

He just didn't know if it would ever be enough.

He knew only two things: he desperately needed the woman in his arms…and he desperately wanted the one who would be there tomorrow.

He was damned.


	4. IV: The Tell Tale Heart

Author's note:

Now we touch on the strings that pull the heart. The strings are vast and many. They tug in light places and in dark. They offer redemption, they promise damnation. The strings are in every facet of what makes us human. Our hero is torn between his duality. He is stranded somewhere between rebirth and regret. What binds him to the past is what pulls him to the future. And it is never so easy to embrace what makes us whole.

IV. The Tell Tale Heart

ALEA IACTA EST

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." – Edgar Allen Poe

:::::::::::::::::::::::::FOUR::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Washington D.C., 2016

The Operation had been perfectly timed. It had planned and executed flawlessly. It had zero margin for error as the men involved in the procurement of the target in question were some of the most brilliant in the country. It was the perfect plan.

For just as long as it took for the operation to go into effect, it took half as long for the trap to be sprung. He'd never forget it, the moment he knew they'd been betrayed. He turned back, too slow, too fucking slow.

The first bullet struck like a snake. It went through the throat of man just behind him. Watts. Jim Watts. They'd spent the evening before playing BlackJack and drinking scotch. The tactical gear was useless when the other side knew who they were up against.

Jim Watts had a wife and three little girls.

The blood bloomed in a wet, hot, coppery flower from his throat. He clutched, he stumbled, and he died there on the pavement. Leon barely had time to breathe before the storm came, "No."

The bullets were like a barrage of fire and brimstone. The frontal assault took out twenty men before it relented. Leon was trapped on his belly beneath an SUV, watching…watching…watching them fall all around him. The rage and loss chewed up his guts and hollowed him out, it ripped a sound from his throat that was desperate and manic.

When the gun fire stopped, the second wave began.

They poured from the walls, from the sky. They came like demons from the gaping mouth of hell. Lickers and hunters exploded from doorways, dropped down from roofs, came from alleyways and buildings where they'd cleared. THEY'D CLEARED only hours before.

The plan had been perfect.

A perfect storm.

Leon rolled from beneath the SUV. He wouldn't die like this, a coward, a coward who hid while the world burned. Car alarms were blaring and fire had begun to lick the sky around them. The end. The end of the fucking world.

"THE BRAINS!" He yelled it loud over the cacophonous din of rapid gunfire and shouting. "AIM FOR THE BRAINS!"

He put a .50 calibur round into the brain of the licker that charged him first. The one behind it threw that tongue at him fast and desperate. He feinted left and it hit like a whip against the place his face had been a moment before. The knife in his had gotten there without any thought behind it. He used it to take a hard swipe at that fucking tongue.

It leapt, up, up and landed atop the car beside him. He spun himself out to avoid the swiping claws and back into a perfect flip. He landed, skidded over the blood slick ground and was face to face with a hunter. Time went slow, stopped.

It's smashed one giant clawed hand into him. The combat gear saved him from being split in half. It tossed him away like a swatted fly. He hit the side of a car and fell to one knee on the street, his pain echoed in the screaming wail of the car alarm he'd set off.

The hunter sprung, shrieking madly. Leon rolled to the side and it drove those razor sharp talons right into the door of the car beside him. He scrambled and spun a back kick into it before he put three rounds from his Magnum into its shrieking face.

There were too many. Too many and too few of the good guys left. He turned, yelled the order for the retreat. He yelled it ABORT ABORT ABORT. But he couldn't see a single man still standing. He started running.

The bomb went off as he ran. The bomb. It exploded the world into raining fire and steel, light and death, the world was on fire.

There was an alley to the left that he ducked left into without thinking. Someone else had the same thought as she was racing the same direction. He caught up to her and had never been so happy to see her face.

"Helena!"

Helena Harper, the other agent who'd been assigned to the mission. They were old friends and had survived together before this. Helena was still alive.

"Leon!"

They hit the far street and kept running toward the extraction point. The noise of the things persuing them was getting louder. There was no way they were going to out run them. There were too many the terrain was too wide.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. He kicked open the door of the closest building and all but tossed her inside. He slammed the door behind them.

"Hurry! Find something to brace the door!"

Helena shoved the closest shelf until it collapsed over in front of the door. A quick inspection of the area told them they'd shoved their way into the library. She spun, spun, and pointed.

"We can get to the roof. We might be able to radio for evac from there."

Leon was already on it, communicating their coordinates. Hunnigan was on the line, horrified. "What happened?!"

"Somebody knew!" He all but shouted it as the rage ate him up inside, "Somebody pulled a fucking Benedict Arnold. Some fucking Judas told!"

"Leon…the losses. They are complete. There is no one left out there. We've tried to raise everyone with no answer."

"Oh my god…"He leaned on the wall, covered his face with his hands, "Oh my god…"

Helena grabbed his forearm, squeezed. "We have to do this. We can't fall apart."

Hunnigan's voice came soft and consoling, "I'm sorry, Leon. I am. But there's no time to break down. Get to the roof. I'll have a chopper there in fifteen minutes."

The door was being beat against, the shrieking and screaming was on top of them. He opened his eyes and met Hunnigan's face on the communicator. "You better be faster than fifteen. I don't think we've got that long."

He and Helena ran toward the far side of the library. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and raced toward the fire exit. Helena grabbed the handle and nodded to him.

He nodded back and braced to cover as she pushed the door wide.

The fire escape was old and metal but sturdy. They rushed out, scanning the area before they began to climb up the narrow escape. He heard the door of the library burst open just as they slammed the escape door behind them.

"GO!"

They were almost to the top when a hunter burst out of the escape door, screaming that warbling cry. He angled himself down, tried to find the shot and couldn't against the metal and the narrow wall. Furious, he turned and chased Helena across the rooftop.

"Jump across!"

"What?!"

"Helena! JUMP ACROSS!"

She reached the end of the roof and leapt. She didn't hesitate. She just did it. He was right behind her, airborne. It seemed he was sustained in flight forever before he came down into a roll to absorb the impact.

The Hunter followed them. He rolled to his back and was pulling the trigger as it came down. It shrieked and screamed until its face was blown away in a blast of blood, bone, and thicker things. It fell twitching to the roof beside him.

They were already running for the next roof.

He leapt first, spinning back to make sure she made it. She hit the side of the roof and dropped, grabbing desperately with her hands. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her up.

The whirring blades of the helicopter drew closer. They made a stand, turning to shoot at the crowd that started racing and screaming toward them. Ten lickers and maybe more hunters. This was it. This was the only chance they had.

"I'm out!" She holstered her pistol and pulled her knife. Leon picked off two more and clicked empty. He grabbed a spare clip and shoved it home.

"No!" He grabbed her arm. "We can't stay here. MOVE!"

They ran again for the next roof. Farther this time and a dangerous game to play to try to reach it. He poured on the speed, put his head down and leapt, springing with every ounce of power in his legs.

He hit the roof in a roll, sliding out of it to turn around. Helena leapt, airborne. She hit the edge of the roof and he grabbed her wrists again to pull her up.

"Leon!"

Everything slowed down. The Hunter was right above them. He was in the middle of pulling her up. He watched it fall, felt it land. It smashed down on him and his hands let go of her.

"HELENA!"

She was screaming. He rolled to his back and the hunter drove those claws down, down. They went into his chest and burst out the other side, pinning him to the roof. He could still hear Helena screaming.

The hunter lifted him off the roof, spitted on its claws like a shish kabob. He gasped, the blood spilling out of his mouth as he coughed. It roared and Helena had stopped screaming.

It shook him, shook him, shook him like a wet dog on its claws. He came loose, suspended in the air for what seemed like forever and fell. He fell tumbling down the side of the building and hit the fire escape beneath. The loud clang of metal was measured against the roaring of the Hunter, the blazing fire in the street below, the hard thunder of his own heartbeat.

"Leon…"

His eyes rolled. Helena was lying on the fire escape a few feet from him. Her left leg was twisted, twisted and broken up behind her. Leon put a hand out to her.

He coughed, watching his blood spill too fast and too thick onto the street below.

Helena put her hand out to echo his; the lickers tongue wrapped around her wrist, once, twice.

"No…"His voice was little more than an anguished whisper.

She was jerked, screaming, up toward the roof. He tried to rise and collapsed back into his own blood. He felt the darkness grab his throat and claim him. She was still screaming as it defeated him.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

Leon gave a shout as he sat straight up in bed. The gun was aimed at the face in front of him without thinking. He was breathing too sharp, too fast.

Rebecca stood very still, her hair wrapped in a towel like her body. She'd just come from the shower. Her eyes were very wide.

She lifted her hands up. "I'm unarmed."

He lowered the gun, dropped it onto the mattress beside him. His head fell back against the headboard and he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok. Bad dream?"

"Yeah," His voice was gravelly and low, sounded pained, "Something like that."

The bed shifted and she ran her hand over his chest, stroking him. "Want to tell me about it?"

He opened his eyes to look at her. His hand came up and linked fingers with her. And for the first time, he did. He wanted to tell someone about it. All of it.

"When I was a kid…I used to imagine the kind of man I'd grow up to be…"He lifted her fingers and brought them to his face, he laid her palm along his cheek and cuddled to it, "I never imagined I would end up like this."

"Leon…"She used her other hand to stroke his hair back from his face. "The man you are…don't you see it? Can't you see what you've become?"

"I can…a monster."

"Oh Leon," Rebecca climbed onto the bed more until she was able to straddle him, she hiked the towel up and settled herself on his lap. She traced his face now with her fingers as she spoke, "This scar here…just below your eye? It's your strength. It came when you saved Sherry Birkin in Raccoon City..this one? On your chin?" Her finger traced it, "This one is your endurance. It came when you survived the first mission the President sent you on. These lines, here and here?" She traced her fingers over the lines beside his eyes, "These are your heart. Strong, steady, and funny. Soooo funny. They came when you made your first joke in the middle of danger, when you laughed when you should have been crying. These lines…here?" She slid those fingers over the lines at the corners of his mouth, "These are your grief. Raw and painful. It fills you up to bursting when you think about all the people you've lost. All the people you couldn't save."

Her hands traced over his brow now, feeling each divet in his flesh. "These lines are your darkness, wide and long. They get longer with each day that you live and other people die. And this?" She traced her fingers now over his mouth and he shivered a little, "This is your light, Leon. It's bright and good and true. It makes you a complete person. Not a monster. A monster doesn't hurt, doesn't feel. It doesn't cry for those who've left us. It doesn't have nightmares or drink to mask the pain. A monster doesn't care, Leon."

She pressed a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. "There's a monster inside of all of us. What separates us from it, is knowing that it can never really control us unless we stop caring enough to fight. The monster can't have you unless you let it, Leon. Don't let it win."

The pain rose fast and sharp, stealing his breath. He felt it beat like the wings of a butterfly against his chest and soul. He opened his mouth and started talking. And he couldn't stop.

He told her about it. He told her about Raccoon City and the training that came next. He told her about the offer: Fight for them or they'd kill Sherry. No choice. He was never given a choice to say yes. He had to protect Sherry.

She made coffee, she listened. She watched him while he spoke, while he raged. He rose at one point to pace like a tiger in a cage. He told her about the island. He told her about Jack Krauser and the friendship they'd forged. He told her of the betrayal.

He couldn't begin to know what he looked like as he spoke, pacing in those loose fitting sweats. They hung weakly at his hips as he paced and made her mouth water. He told her about a man named White. He told her about the cage.

THE CAGE, Somewhere in South America, 2002

The blow to the face was hard and fast. It tossed him out and against the bars of the dangling cage where they fought. It was suspended above the pit, the pit filled with bloodied spikes and death. The stench of rot and decay was heady and rich, robbing the brain of anything more than the urge to vomit from it. The smell of sun ripened death would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Harder. Faster. NOW!"

Leon rushed and White, a man in white to fit the name, slapped him back and kicked him. The blow stole his breath and forced his stomach up into his throat. Leon gagged, wretching on the ground.

"Try again. Now. Get up."

"I can't!"

White kicked him, hard in the side. He slid across the cage floor.

"Then you'll die. GET UP!"

"FUCK YOU!"

White tilted his head and gestured. The cage door opened and Jack Krauser was pushed in to join them. "Now. Fight. Or die."

"What?" Leon cuddled his arm around his chest, trying to get his breath back. "What?"

"FIGHT. OR DIE."

White exited the cage. "This cage will drop in fifteen minutes. Either one of you will escape. Or both of you will die. Your choice. FIGHT."

Krauser turned to him. Friends. They'd become good friends. They'd shared stories and laughter and jokes. Krauser was a good man, determined. A former service member looking to expand into something with a better pension.

They were both going to die in this cage.

"Leon, what do we do?"

"I don't know."

The cage rattled and a dropped, two feet closer to the spikes.

"TEN MINUTES NOW. What will you do?"

Krauser pulled the knife from his boot. "I don't know what else to do."

Leon rose, slowly. He drew the knife from his vest. "It's ok. It's ok. What can we fucking do but play the game?"

They raced at each other. Leon rolled at the last second and Krauser's knife sliced the air where he'd been. He hacked at Krauser's legs and got the skin beneath his pants. Krauser kicked at him with a hiss of pain and Leon was forced to roll out of it.

The knife in Krauser's hand drove into his back. Leon shouted in pain and threw his elbow back catching him in the face. The other man grunted and jerked the knife clear. It erupted in a burst of blood. Leon spun low, feeling the wet spill of red down his back as he did.

"Christ…I'm sorry, Leon."

"Don't be. Don't be sorry." They grappled, hands and feet. Leon kicked, Krauser blocked. Krauser pushed, Leon pulled. Krauser went up and over in a text book throw.

He landed on his back with a loud clang of metal floor. The cage tilted, swinging from side to side with the struggle. Leon drove the knife down toward him and Krauser caught his hands, stopping it. They were both grunting with the effort of stopping or driving that blade home.

Krauser kneed him in the stomach.

He grunted and went to the side. Krauser brought his knife down in a hard arch. It drove straight into his chest and burst out his back. Leon screamed from it and slashed.

He'd never forget that sound. The knife struck Krauser's face. It slashed down the left side. It tried to bisect it completely to the skull beneath. Only sheer luck saved the eye from being completely destroyed. His face burst like a balloon, spilling blood down onto Leon's in answer. They were both screaming now, both lost in the madness of it.

Krauser grabbed his throat and started squeezing. Leon drove the knife into his side and twisted it. The pain, the horror, the rage all rose up to choke them both. The blood was hot and heady, horrible.

And the laughter…the laughter of White would haunt them forever.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

"I spent another three weeks there in that cage. He stripped away the humanity. He left nothing but the emptiness behind. Krauser and I were never the same after that. When we met again in Spain…there was nothing of the friend in him that I'd grown to know. He'd turned to the wrong side. He'd sold himself. A mercenary without any compunction for what was right. I always wondered how high the price of his soul had been."

Leon moved to his bag and dug through it. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, drawing a long, long drag. She watched him, saying nothing.

"I don't know when I really started to lose hope. Maybe it was after Tatchi. Maybe it was before. Maybe it was what happened in D.C. Maybe I've always been hopeless. How the hell should I know?"

She rose and moved toward him. She took the cigarette from his fingers and took a smooth drag on it. Her eyes closed and she sighed with pleasure. "This shit will kill you."

"So they say."

She ground it out in the ash try on the desk. "Why not just quit?"

"What?"

"If you're so done, if you're over it and all of it, why not just quit?"

Leon blinked at her, lost for words. It was such a simple question really. Why couldn't he find an answer?

"Exactly," She pointed her finger at him, "You can't quit. You don't know how to do anything but try to save the world."

It was eerily reminiscent of what Ada had said to him. Rebecca hoisted herself up on the desk to sit beside him. "You would have made a hell of a teacher."

Surprised, he glanced down at her. "Say what?"

"I saw your transcripts, read your teacher reviews. You were so good at helping others learn. You would have made a hell of a teacher. But you went into law enforcement. Why?"

"Shooting bad guys sounded more fun than grading papers."

She nodded, laughed a little. "Yeah. Yeah it does. How about now?"

He paused, blinked again. "Now?"

"Yeah. What do you want to do, right now, right this minute?"

It was, again, such a simple question. And at least this time, the answer was simple. He turned into her, tugged the towel loose and pulled her against him.

She laughed a little, raised her arms and wrapped them over his shoulders. He hiked her up against the front of his body and carried her to the bed. She used her toes to pull his pants down as they went.

Afterward, naked and sweating, they lay side by side on the bed.

She laughed a little again and skimmed her fingers over his thigh. "That was a good answer."

"I have my moments."

She rolled atop him, settled herself there to straddle him. He settled his hands on her hips, breathing heavily. His thumbs almost touched at her belly button when he encircled her little waist. Slim, fairy bright, petite. She was such a package of mystery, laughter, and hope in a tiny frame.

He circled his thumbs over her belly. "What are you doing to me?"

She smiled a little and traced his smile lines with her fingers. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" She leaned down to kiss him and his hands skimmed up her back into her hair. "I'm killing you with kindness, Mr. Kennedy."

He held her face now, held her eyes. The pain there, the torture, it was so raw and real. She bled inside for him. She cupped his face in answer to it. "What are you afraid of?"

The question was like lightning between. It crackled and smoked, burning where it struck. She kissed his mouth, soft, questioning. "What are you so afraid of?"

His thumbs trailed down to skim her mouth. "I'm afraid if I let you in, I'll lose you too."

She hadn't thought he'd answer. She was surprised he had. The answer touched her in places that had no name. She kissed him now, gentle. "You might. But what if the risk is worth the reward?"

They kissed for a long moment now. It was smooth and wet and deep. He rolled her beneath him and put his mouth over her heart. He kissed her there and killed her. A single gesture that bared her blood and soul to him. He ground his forehead against her.

"Rebecca…I don't think I'd survive it. If I had to put you in the ground, I don't think I could come back from that."

Her hands tunneled through his hair, pushed it off his face. He looked so stark and pale without it framing him. "You'd survive it. You have to. Haven't you figured it out yet? You are here to do amazing things. The world needs you. Promise me. Whatever else happens, Leon. You have to promise me that you'll never give up."

Leon shook his head, undone. He dropped his mouth to kiss her, held her face while he did it. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him. He buried his face against her neck and shoulder, breathing.

"Your faith in me scares me to death."

She looped her legs around his waist to draw him closer to her. "That's ok. Faith is scary. It's something we take on pure instinct. We can't see it, can't touch it, can't smell it. We just feel it. It fills us up and guides us. It gives us hope when all else is lost. No matter what the darkness tells you, no matter how it lies…Leon…faith is what keeps us strong against it." She drew his hand around the tiny cross she wore around her neck. She squeezed her hand around his, holding it there between them. "I want you to have this."

She undid the chain and slid it around his neck, securing it there.

"Rebecca…"

"It was my father's. When he died…" He voice trailed off, hitched. He stroked her face, comforting, "When he died, I thought I'd die too you know? I loved him so much. He was such a goof. My mother was the brains. My Dad…he was just a plumber. Just a plumber who made bad jokes and cooked amazing spaghetti. He could always make her laugh. The laughter died with him."

She traced her hands over his face above her, the lines that made him human. "The laughter died the day they came and told us that a drunk driver had crossed the median and killed him. He gave me this cross when I graduated from med school. He was so proud. He told me that faith let him know that I was going to do great things. Faith had given him the smartest little girl in the world. He passed that faith to me and told me it would never lead me wrong."

She put her hand over his heart, pressed the cross into his skin. "He was right. It led me to you. I don't need the symbol of it anymore. I have it inside of me, always. But you? You need a medallion, you need a shield against the darkness. You need faith, Leon. If you can't have it in yourself, that's ok. Because I will do it for you."

He felt like someone had ripped open his chest and exposed his soul. He didn't know how to move, how to think, how to breathe. He was aching in places that had no name, hurting in ways that had no end. He covered her hand on his chest with his own. "Rebecca, what are you doing to me?"

She gripped the back of his neck with her other hand. "Don't you know? I'm loving you."

"I don't want you to love me."

She laughed, softly, "I don't think it much matters anymore. The Rolling Stones said it best.."

He gripped her, tightly and finished it for her. "You can't always get what you want."

"Nope. I can't promise you anything other than this: I will always believe in you. The light in you is strong. Don't let it go out, Leon. You're better than that."

"Rebecca," He pressed his forehead to hers, "You stagger me."

"I've never agreed more with something that you've said." She closed her eyes and sighed, smiling, "You stagger me, too."

The soft buzzing of the phone brought him awake. He was half lying atop her, his arm draped across her chest. Their legs were intertwined. She shifted a little in the gray light. Outside, a steady rain was falling. It had cocooned them inside their little room together.

Her hand landed on the phone and lifted it, blinking to see the message.

"What is it?"

She turned her face toward his and his eyes, so very blue, were nearly too pale in the light from the screen of the phone. Startlingly beautiful. She wondered if she'd ever see him and not yearn.

"It's Joel. They have something on the surveillance. He wants us to come check it out."

Leon nodded, stretched a little. "What time is it?"

"Close to ten thirty."

"Tell him we'll be there soon."

She texted a reply and put the phone on the nightstand again. "I need to shower again before we head out. I'm sticky. Seems a shame to leave this bed really."

"Yeah." He felt something ache at the intrusion of the real world into their safe space. He shifted a little and the cross slid against his chest, reminding him. It filled him with something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

She started to move and he slid across her, atop her. "Or we could just…" Her voice ended on a gasping sigh as he slid into her, sliding his hands up her arms to pin hers above her head. He closed his eyes tightly, she wrapped her legs around his, settled the arches of her feet against his calves.

The cross flickered like a tiny light in the muted sunlight from the window. Their hands linked, held. She rose to meet him, shivering. It was fast, deep, drawing on a desperate need to push all the feeling between them back into her like a spear between her legs. He was running from what it meant, what it felt like, what it stole from him to feel it and want it and let it inside of him.

She gasped his name, met his mouth where it dropped to seal against hers. The cross swung with each stroke, long and deep, of his body inside of hers. If he could just take it all back, if he could just turn it back into sex. Just sex. Just make it mean nothing. If he could do that, the fear wouldn't gnaw at the edges of his heart with reckless abandon.

He didn't want to love her.

He didn't want to know that loving her was even a possibility. Love meant sacrifice. It meant waiting in dark rooms and dark corners for the betrayal to follow. Love meant long nights alone with a bottle of whiskey. If he loved her, he had something to lose.

He released her hands to bracket his arms along side her head and plow his body into hers. Her hands scrambled up his sides and caught his face. She traced her thumbs over his eyelids and his eyes opened.

He went still above her, panting.

She lifted herself up and drew him down. The cross pressed between them as she kissed him. She wouldn't let him close his eyes, mesmerized by her – he held. "I love you. Tell me you don't know that."

Leon closed his eyes now, unable to stand against the nearly painful yearning that bubbled in him at the feel of it. He shook his head, still denying, "Don't. Please. I don't want to hurt you."

Her breath hitched a little for them both now. What had happened to him? She could see Ada Wong written all over his face. That bitch had her claws so deep in him that he was barely alive any more. "Love is painful, Leon. And real. And wonderful. And worth it."

He shook his head again.

"Look at me."

There was the shimmer of tears in his eyes as he did. She felt them spill from her own in answer. He wouldn't, couldn't, would never let them fall. She knew that. So she cried for them both.

"We're just two people. We're just two people right here, right now, in this moment together. Don't try to see too far ahead of here. Don't try to protect yourself from me. Not from me. I don't need you to promise me the world. I just need you to let me love you." She drew him down to kiss him, once, twice, "I need to love you, Leon. Let me love you."

He shivered, overcome and humbled by her, and made some sound of submission. He collapsed atop her and she wrapped herself around him. They made desperate, gasping, breath stealing love while the rain pounded the world outside the window.

Let me love you, she'd said, and stolen a piece of him he'd never get back.

And just then, just in that moment, he did. He let her in. And he wasn't afraid.

She watched him dress and with each piece of clothing he donned, he rebuilt the armor around him. It was like watching shields snap and shift into place. The man became the warrior, the warrior became the god. She lay in awe of him and could do nothing but love him.

It didn't scare her, this love she felt. It freed her. In the whole of her life she'd never let herself love someone like this. She'd held it back, hid it away, and tried to pretend she didn't need to feel it to be a whole person. But it was here now, hot and heavy and full, it made her feel dizzy and delightful and weak with want for him.

Maybe it wouldn't last. Maybe it would burn them both up when it went up in flames. Maybe she'd never really have him. Maybe she'd long for him forever from some remote corner of the world while he fought on without her. It was a risk worth taking. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't.

The shirt he wore beneath the vest was long sleeved and pinstriped gray. Somehow it made his skin glow. He strapped his watch on. The window behind him ran with rain and the gray light turned his blue eyes brilliant. He slid his hands into those tactical gloves and velcroed them against his skin. Each layer added mystery and made her want him more.

She leaned on her elbow beneath the sheets, letting them drape around her. She was in no hurry to get ready. She could lie there and watch him forever.

"I love you."

It echoed around them. He paused while strapping himself into his vest, he closed his eyes, and continued closing the latches. She sat up now, holding the sheet against her breasts.

"You don't have to say it back." He turned to face her at a loss for words, "I'm going to keep saying it though. Is that ok?"

A long moment passed. They stared at each other in the pearly gray light. And finally, finally, finally…he nodded. Something relaxed inside of her.

She slid to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to grab a shower quickly. If…if you're not here when I get out, I'll see you at Joel's room. Ok?"

She hurried into the bathroom.

He lifted his hand to rub at the cross against his chest, tucked carefully beneath shirt and vest. His hand curled around his gun as he slid it into the holster. The shower turned on in the bathroom and her voice lifted, singing like a pretty little bird.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the dresser. He was smiling. Surprised, he met his own eyes. Her love humbled him.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was gone.

She'd expected him to be. She knew he was frightened of what was happening here. She should really back off and give him a break from it. But she felt like if she didn't push, didn't push now, whatever was pulling at him would never let him go.

She dressed quickly in a pair of yoga pants and an oversized hoodie with the S.T.A.R.S. logo on the front. It was Chris' hoodie. She'd robbed it from him after her lab had been over taken by Arias. She loved it. It was big, warm, and made her feel safe when she wore it.

She slipped her feet into boots and moved to the bag on the dresser from the pharmacy. It had her favorite shampoo in it, a bar of locally made goat milks soap, and a package of condoms. She set the condoms on the dresser, smiling a little.

She figured it was never too late to play it safe. Right?

Rebecca opened the door to her room and watched the rain falling thick and deep. She hurried quickly down the walk to Joel's room and slipped inside.

The bed was shoved out of the way. The desk was center stage and had Joel's various gadgets set up on it. He was showing the other agents and Leon what he had found.

"She's getting them without even trying. Look." The feed lit up, night vision in HD, it showed women walking in to the clinic. It showed them walking out.

"Ok?" Leon crossed his arms over his chest, "None of this throws a red flag."

"Not yet!" Joel fast forwarded the footage. "Here."

The time stamp was the night before. The door of the clinic opened and a woman went in. A few minutes elapsed and the woman walked out again, rubbing her neck. She turned her face and the camera caught it, caught her, just right. Her eyes had gone completely black.

Rebecca froze, shifted. "Wait..that could just be a trick of the light."

"I thought so too but watch this," Joel hit buttons and the time fast forwarded, the clinic door opened again and a tall woman alighted. She was beautiful and filled out her clothes in all the right places. She turned her head and gestured. Another woman followed her onto the clinic porch. The beautiful woman turned and slid her hand into the other's womans pants.

One of the agent's coughed, sipping his coffee. "This is a better show then I thought."

Leon rolled his eyes. Rebecca met his look and smirked.

Joel, who could care less about the girl on girl action that was taking place, shook his head. "Forget that. WATCH."

The beautiful woman kissed the other. The kiss was very deep and very long. When she drew back from it, her tongue…her tongue stayed in that mouth. The tongue was nearly six inches long before she drew it from the other woman. It whipped once in the air like a snake and slid back into her mouth.

Leon had shifted closer to the screen, eyes narrowed. "Plagas?"

Joel shook his head, excited, "I don't think so. She seems to be in control of herself. She's infecting them and bringing them to her. But they go back to their lives. They function. I think she's cultivating them for some kind of army."

Leon nodded, met his eyes. "We need to get inside that office."

"Yes. I want to study her for another day or so. I want to see where she goes, what she does. I want to know when she's gone and for how long." Joel rose, took a long pull on the coffee, "If I can find out where she's going, maybe we can find where she's keeping them."

Rebecca lifted a brow. "Keeping who?"

"The ones she's copying."

Leon met his look. "Copying?"

"Oh yeah. Those ones that enter, they aren't the ones that leave. She's cloning them."

"Any chance the real ones are still alive?"

"I think so. She needs to infuse the fakes with frequent DNA from the source. That's the kissing. That's the sharing. She's passing it to the fakes to keep them complacent as stand ins. When has enough, when she's ready, she'll stop infusing them. I figure then she'll do whatever it is she's planning."

One of the other agents snorted, shook his head. "Invasion of the fucking body snatchers. Brought about by lesbian lip action. What a way to die."

Leon nodded a little. "I'm going to go shadow the clinic and see if I can find out anything. Joel, keep watching your feeds and try to get a schedule down for her. When she's clear, I'll go in. We can't storm the gates and take her out, not if there are living people in there held hostage."

Rebecca nodded, "Agreed. I'm going to head to the library and see if I can dig up any information on the lay of the town. I want to know access routes, ins and outs, hidey holes. I want to know how she plans to move when the trap is sprung."

Leon turned, gestured to the other two agents. "You two blend in, keep blending. It may also be time to start securing the area. We don't want to lose any more women to this bitch but we can't let on that we're watching either. We don't want to spook her."

He patted Joel on the shoulder, awkwardly. "Good work."

Joel beamed. "Thanks!"

He moved out into the rain. Rebecca watched him go, feeling a little twinge that he hadn't given her so much as an order. She tried not to take it personally.

The greater part of the afternoon passed with Leon playing the part of johnny on the spot. He watched the clinic, varying his position around town to not become an obvious lingering presence. The beautiful doctor came and went. Patients came and went. Men and children came and went. The women came, stayed, and emerged again glassy eyed and hollow.

She was going to have every woman in the town before it was all said and done.

They didn't have much time.

Dubois didn't look like Maria Gomez with the exception of being blonde and beautiful. But that didn't mean a thing. If cloning was her thing, she could have imprinted herself on another body without any trouble.

He dropped the cigarette in his hand and ground his boot against it.

The sun was setting somewhere over the turbulent bay. It was hard to see it amongst the clouds. The rain still fell steady and relentless, masking the sleepy little town with a sheen of quiet contentment.

"Smoking is a terrible habit, you know."

His stomach jerked, knotted.

He turned to meet her eyes. She was dressed in a thick parka of blood red. The hood was mink and black as pitch. It set off her hair above it.

"Ada."

"Leon."

She walked toward him until they stood facing each other. "I've missed you."

"Don't."

She quirked a smile but inclined her head toward him, "I have intel for you."

"Really?" He sounded less than impressed.

"Really. Come with me." She turned and started walking. He followed her across the street to a big, old stone building. She unlatched the door and gestured him inside.

Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly…

He passed by her into the room. It was a simple set up clearly meant for surveillance of the clinic. She had a great view of it from where it was located. She moved to a long table that sat against the far wall. It was Sparta in the room save for maps and papers that lined the walls with information and the sniper rifle that was on its stand pointing out the window.

"Planning to kill someone?"

"I'm never unprepared for that." She slid a phone across the table toward him. He caught it, palmed it. "Everything about Dubois is on there. She's not Gomez. But I believe they are working together."

He studied her face, "What's the other shoe, Ada?"

She tilted her head, curious, "What do you mean?"

"You rarely give without getting. What do you want?"

She unzipped her coat and laid it across the table. She was in a red cashmere sweater over tight black leather pants. "I want the cloning stopped. My way involves total sanitation."

He took a step forward, horrified. "Ada, there are people still alive in there."

"I'm aware of that." She crossed her arms over her chest, "Can you promise that they aren't compromised?"

"Can you swear that they are?"

Ada shrugged. "It's the needs of the few, Leon. You know that."

"Damnit Ada. You can't blow up the whole building. You could do serious collateral damage."

She shifted toward him but he held his ground. She slid against him, rubbing at him like a cat in heat. "Imagine how good it would feel to not give a fuck about those women. Imagine if you could just do it, just set the bomb and never look back. Collect your paycheck, you save the day, and you don't get the shit beat out of you trying to be a hero."

"That's somebody's wife or mother. They aren't expendable."

"Always the boyscout, Leon." She went on tiptoe and licked his mouth, "Sometimes people die. You can save more people by sacrificing a few. Don't worry, boyscout, I'll do it for you. And preserve your innocence a little longer."

"Don't you dare," He took her shoulders and held her away from him. "No more games, Ada. This, whatever this is, it's over."

Her hands found his zipper and jerked it down. "It's over when I say it's over. Tell me again that you don't want me."

"I don't want you."

Her hand wrapped around the pulsing hard length of him inside his pants. She laughed, darkly, richly, sinfully. "Liar."

It was like watching himself from outside again. He could see the moment the darkness grabbed him and spilled its tendrils into his flesh. He shoved her back and she landed on the table, laughing. Her legs spread as he stepped between them.

He ground his lower body against hers, reaching down to find the zipper on those tight little leather pants. She lifted her hands, jerking at the zipper of his leather coat. She pulled at his combat vest with a moan as he gave up trying to get the leather pants off her hips and thrust his hand inside, finding her moist and ready for him.

She let out of moaning laughing as she arched up to kiss him.

The cross slid out from inside of his shirt. It dangled there between them when he drew back for air. Her mouth was rosy and swollen from his.

The cross glittered.

He stopped fucking her with his fingers. He drew them out of her. He took a shaky step back.

Her eyes slid open. She realized he was no longer curled against her. She eyed him, quizzically. "Leon?"

"No." He shook his head and jerked up his zipper. "No. We're done here."

"What?"

"Stay out of my way on this, Ada. I so much as see a match tossed too close to that clinic before those women are out, I'll know who to blame."

Something twisted in her stomach. She slid off the table. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We're done here."

He jerked open the door and the cold blasted his face, cementing the shame that sparked hot and hard in his stomach.

"You can't run from this, Leon. Try all you want. We both know where your bodies are buried. I've seen inside of you. And it's as dark and empty as it is desperate. We belong together."

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. The truth resonated inside of him like a bell. "God help us both if you're right."

He slammed the door behind him as he moved out into the pouring rain.

The thunderous cold of it was no less than he deserved. What was it about her that turned him into a blithering idiot? Why did she call to his darkness like a siren? Would he ever be free of her?

He paused in the pouring rain and glanced up at the turbulent sky. There was only one way to be free of her. And even then…even if the answer was so very clear…it couldn't be more complicated. If she died, she'd take a part of him with her. If she died, would he die too?

He glanced at his reflection in a shop window. Would he simply fade away? And what would he be without her there inside of him, the yin to his yang, the darkness that licked at the edges of his soul? How many times had he stood over her and protected her from death?

He touched the cross on his chest, so small and simple. A talisman against the dark. It had worked, it had spurred him to turn her away. Had he finally been given the answer to the question he'd been asking all these years? Would it trap the beast inside him and keep the demons at bay?

It was just a piece of metal.

He heard the laughter and turned in the rain.

She was standing under the over hang of the motel laughing at something Joel was saying to her. Her face was alight with it, the laughter that was so inherent in her. She had no darkness in her. She was simply real. She wanted nothing but to love him. She offered him nothing but that love. No strings, no traps, no games.

It was just a piece of metal…but it was her faith that gave it power.

She turned as if she sensed him watching her. The smile that bloomed on her face was brilliant and breathtaking. She lifted her hand to wave. He took a step toward her and her smile froze, wilted. Something stole the smile and put a hardness in her eyes.

He turned his head and saw what had taken her joy.

The bitch in red.

She leaned against the wall of the clinic, smiling slyly. The rain pounded the ground around her and yet she was safe, shadowed under the roof of the porch. She waggled her fingers at Rebecca and blew her a slow, slow kiss.

And then she knocked on the door of the clinic.

He called her name in the rain, starting toward her. She winked at him and the door opened. The beautiful doctor invited her inside.

He turned back to Rebecca. Her face was pale and lost. She glanced at him and then at the porch where Ada had stood. He watched something slide across her face, some level of pain that hurt him inside to witness.

She nodded at him; the answer to whatever question was on his face.

She turned away and went into her room and closed the door behind her.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He turned back to the clinic and hurried up the porch. His hand knocked on the door.

Ada answered it, smiling sweetly. "Come inside."

He ducked into the office. It was warm inside and a fire crackled in the waiting room. The beautiful doctor came out of the back room.

"So I-Oh…" She stopped when she saw him, "Your husband?"

She was very French. The accent was so thick that it was hard to understand her at times. She smiled politely. "I am Dr. Dubois."

"Ron Jarvis." He shook her hand, "I thought I wasn't going to make it for her appointment but it looks like I just did."

"Yes indeed," Dubois set a needle and the bottle of liquid she carried down on her desk, "Your wife is getting her tetanus updated."

"Is that so?"

"Qui. She is..what is word…exposed? For when you cut the hand on the rusty metal."

"Ah yes. I get your meaning."

Ada let her step close. She slipped the tracker on the underside of her fingertip and pretended to panic about the shot. She put her hand on the doctor's wrist, transferring the tracker. "Oh wait…I've changed my mind. I'm not…needles? No way."

She stood and hurried across to Leon. "Come on honey. I think I need a drink to get ready for something like that."

Dubois looked irritated. Likely she was being robbed of her prey. "You will come back, yes? You must be given this shot."

"Oh I will be back," Ada smiled at her, a snake about to strike, "I promise you."

Out on the street she slipped a portable device into his palm. "I set up a minicam in her office. I put a tracker on her. I'm giving you twenty four hours to stop her without hurting those women. Otherwise I'm taking her out."

She curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him down to her, "See you later, Leon." She pressed her mouth over his, soft, deadly.

He moved up toward the motel. Rebecca opened the door when he knocked. He looked like a drowned rat in the pouring rain.

And she could smell her on him.

He held the device out to her. "Surveillance inside the office. And she's now being tracked."

Rebecca stared into his face. He looked like a kicked puppy. "So worth it I guess. Right?"

"Rebecca…"

She shook her head and closed the door again.

He bracketed her door with his hands in a push up motion and put his forehead against the wood. When she didn't come back, he turned his back to the door and slid down it to sit on the ground in front of it. He put his head back against the door and waited.

Rebecca glanced out the window at the rain. What did she expect? She'd known the woman had her hooks in him. He'd never lied about that. What had she thought? That a few tumbles in the sack was going to change his mind? That he'd suddenly love her and forget about Ada Wong?

She slid down the door with her back against it.

His voice came through the wood. "I was twenty two when I met her. Young, stupid, and heroic. I fell in love with the character she played. This wide eyed, innocent, mysterious woman looking for someone in a city gone to hell. I was hooked before I knew it. The games got worse from the moment she knew she had me.."

Rebecca listened, transfixed.

"We played cat and mouse for a long time. She was always just one step ahead of me or behind me. For awhile, I thought it was because she was as in love with me as I was with her. How could you not love her? This enigma. This riddle. She was a goddess in red. And me? The bumbling boy in uniform every time she was near. As I got older, I could see what she really was: a liar. A conartist. A fake. Her names not even Ada Wong. Of course it isn't. I don't know her at all. And she'll probably go to her grave laughing at the bumbling boy in uniform who keeps chasing after her. You should stay on the other side of the door, honestly, I deserve it. And I deserve the emptiness she offers. It's what I get after being so stupid for so long."

The door opened. He turned his head and she knelt beside him.

"I told you I'd hurt you."

Rebecca cupped his cheek. "Is that really what you think you deserve? Games and emptiness?"

"I don't know how to want anything else."

"Then that bitch is going to keep on winning," She rose, pulling him to his feet. "Until you realize she's got nothing more on the man then the boy you were, she's going to keep winning."

She tugged him into the room and closed the door behind him. "It's freezing out there. Take off your wet clothes."

He set the portable tracking device and DVR on the table. His hands worked at taking his armor off again. She brought a towel from the bathroom and put it to his hair, helping him dry it.

She used the towel on his damp chest when he took off his soaked shirt. She shook her head at him a little. "You really think she's what you deserve. A bitch whose name you don't even really know."

Her hand wrapped around the cross against his bare skin. She pulled him down to her. "I will bleed her out of you. I don't care how long it takes. I'm going to make sure she's exorcised from your flesh like a demon. I will show you exactly what you deserve."

She scooped his hair back from his face. "You stupid…man." It was the worst insult she could think of and fit the situation. Man. What was it with men and their dicks? He'd been chasing the same piece of ass for close to twenty years.

"She must have crack in her vag."

He blinked down at her. Blinked again. "What?"

"She must literally have crack in her…crack." She let him go and sighed, moving across the room. "Why else would you chase her all this time?"

"I don't know." Although he was somewhat stunted by the image of crack in Ada's…crack.

"What's her birthday?"

"What?"

"What's her favorite television show? Who's her mother? Does she like figs? Where is a place she's always wanted to travel? What's her lifes ambition?" She shook her head at him. "Do you know any of these things?"

"No."

"Then what is it about her?" Rebecca shook her head again, "Is she married, Leon?"

"What?"

"MARRIED. Is she married?"

He simply stared at her. She nodded. "Yeah. You don't know. You don't know her at all. What's to love? Unless you are just so dead set on being miserable that you can't help but follow her over the cliff into it. STOP LOVING HER."

She hadn't meant to shout it. But there was no taking it back now. He blinked at her. She moved toward him, hooked her ankle behind his foot, and pushed him over as she took his legs out from under him. He bounced on the bed on his back.

"Idiot. You are chasing a woman who's been using you for twenty years. That's the first real thing about you that is pitiful." She turned to grab her coat from where it was draped over the chair. "You want to waste away pining for some stupid woman who can't be bothered to see you for what you really are, I can't stop you. But I can't sit here and listen to you wax nostalgic about her for another minute. This might be the first real moment I've considered that maybe you're right.."

"About what?"

"Maybe you do deserve the misery." She slammed the door behind her as she fled the room.

Rebecca jogged out into the rain. The down pour stole her breath with its icy caress as she ran across the town square and ducked into the diner. She grabbed a booth and put her face in her hands, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Is this seat taken?"

The bitch in red slid into the booth across from her.

Rebecca eyed her through slitted lids. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the booth. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ada leaned across the table toward her,"Play nice, little girl. Or you'll find out how deep my bite can get."

"You think you scare me?" Rebecca leaned forward as well, "I don't care who the hell you work for. And I don't care who you think you are. I could take off and leave. I could do that and he probably wouldn't even notice I was gone. You'd win and you could use him and ruin him until there was nothing but a mindless husk left for you to control. But there's one little problem with that…"

She leaned in closer until the two women we're nearly nose to nose across the table. "I WANT him. Even more then you don't want me to have him."

Ada smiled, her eyes flaring with the challenge of it. "You clever little thing, you. Are you using love to tie him to you? He's got a big soft dopey heart, does our boy. I can play that game too. And he's loved me since before you were even a blip on his radar."

"Yeah?" Rebecca smiled at her, all teeth, "But you overplayed your hand there, didn't you? He was untouched when I found him."

Ada blinked, carefully masking the surprise but it had been there, for both of them to see.

"That's right. I had him first. I had him that night and every night since. He couldn't get enough of me. I took his virginity and beat you at your own game."

Ada laughed, softly now, and grabbed Rebecca's chin in her hand to hold her still. "You stupid little mouse. Where do you think he was all day yesterday? Whatever you're giving him, it will never be enough to wipe me from his soul. And now that I've had him, I won't be giving him up. So it would be best if you tucked your little tail between your little legs and scurried back where you came from. People who cross me don't usually do it twice."

Rebecca shook off her hand, "Liar."

Ada shrugged, rising from the booth, "Maybe I am." She leaned down to put her lips to the other woman's little ear, "He fucks like a machine doesn't he? And has the most perfect pink dick I've ever seen. And a girl can certainly appreciate his desire to keep the playing field so well trimmed. What a gentleman. Did he come home smelling like me?" She watched the pain slide over the other girls face and twisted the knife home, "Or did he shower before he came to you? You go ahead and keep playing with him. He's a fun little toy. He'll tire of you eventually. But just remember whom he's thinking of while he's fucking you. We both know where this story ends. Do yourself a favor, get out while you still have some shred of dignity left."

The door of the diner rattled as she left.

Around her, people were laughing and talking and eating. Rebecca sat in the booth feeling a little numb. She rose and slipped from the booth.

He answered the door on her first knock. Shirtless in his sweat pants, he studied her face. She waited, feeling the cold rain beating down on her.

"Where were you yesterday?"

His face told her everything she needed to know. He stepped back from the door. "Come on. Come in. You're getting drenched out there."

She moved passed him into the room. He closed the door and leaned back against it.

"Ada paid me a visit."

He crossed his arms over his chest, "Ok."

"Say it."

"Rebecca.."

"Say it now. Do it. Or I'll never respect you again."

"I was with Ada yesterday afternoon."

"With her? Or WITH her?"

He said nothing, just stood there staring at her. His silence was loud and awful and painful and terrible. She felt like someone had gut punched her. She put a hand to her lower belly and held it.

He moved away from the door. "Don't."

She lifted a hand at him. "Don't you dare. Did you come here after you left her? Did you come in here and fuck me after you fucked her?"

"That's not how I meant for it to happen. I came here to tell you about her. To tell you about everything."

"And somehow you conveniently forgot to mention the fucking? Is that it?"

He moved a little closer to her. "I mean it, Leon. Don't touch me."

"Let me explain. Please."

"No one is stopping you."

"She's got this..hold on me."

"I'm gonna be sick," Rebecca closed her eyes, swayed on her feet, "I'm literally going to be sick. Stop. No more. I can't listen to this shit again."

"It's complicated."

"It's simple. It really is. You thought you'd screw us both." Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, "But I guess you kinda did, didn't you? Was she good, Leon? Did she pant and moan and worship your huge talent?"

"Stop it."

Oh, she mused, he was getting angry now. What fucking right did he have? What right? He'd come here still on the heels of fucking that…thing…and threw himself on top of her without so much as a second thought.

"Did you finally find out what's under that red dress? Is her pussy everything you hoped it would be? Is it worth twenty fucking years of waiting?"

"Damnit Rebecca, don't push me!"

She did. This time, she did. She pushed him; she shoved at his bare chest so hard it sounded like the wet slap of meat and thunder. His eyes flashed blue fire.

"Was it worth it, Leon? WAS IT?"

"YES!" He shouted it at her, startling them both with the rage in his voice, "It was amazing! Is that what you want to hear? It was dark and dirty and sweaty and damning."

He grabbed her arms and shook her. She recoiled, disgusted with him.

"You're right! It was twenty years…and I had to know. I had to know what it would be like with her. I had to know. I had to."

"Let me go." Her voice was hard and lost, angry and broken. "Now. Let go of me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't fucking say that. Don't. I don't care."

"I'm sorry!" He let go of her and she moved away, put her hands on either side of the sink and her head down. She took slow, deep breaths.

"I need to finish, please."

Rebecca shook her head, again. Shook it and kept standing there, trying to get her rage under control. "Don't."

"I had the chance to again today."

"Shut up."

"I didn't. Look at me. Rebecca, look at me."

She turned, slowly. She was so pale now. He took a step toward her and she pointed at him. He went still again.

"Please, I never lied. I didn't. You knew, always, about her. I don't want to feel what I feel for her. I don't want to feel like this." He lifted his hands, helpless.

"You want sympathy from me? You want me to feel sorry for you because you fucked that bitch and hated yourself for it? Is that it?" She shook her head and laughed, brokenly, it ended on a short sob. Horrified that she'd start crying and ruin her moment finite righteous anger, she pointed at him again. "You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. You bastard. But the good news is you're off the hook. I told you this was just sex. I promised that. It's my fault because I let it get deeper, I let it get stronger. I let you…I let you in. Weren't you always telling me not to let you in?"

She laughed again and the dam broke, she slapped a hand against her mouth to try to hold back the sobs. But they came out of her mouth on a hiccup and gasp.

"Please don't. Don't cry." He sounded so lost, so defeated. He moved toward her.

She lifted a hand that flopped uselessly against his chest as he gathered her into him. "Don't…" It was muffled against his chest as she broke, sobbing against him. "Let go…"

Don't let go. It sounded about right.

She sank to the floor with him holding her. Her hands came up to clutch at his back as she buried her face against his chest and died a little inside. He held her so tightly she thought they might split skin and merge into one.

"I'm sorry," It was his litany, his mantra, "You have to forgive me. You have to."

She was shaking her head now. She slapped his back even as she held him tighter. "You didn't promise me anything…" She wept it against him, hiccupping and gasping to get air, "You didn't. We can just…we can just stop this now."

"No! No. I can't…I just…I said no," He pulled her face up to his, tried to tell her what the worlds in his mouth wouldn't and couldn't say, "I said no. I told her no. I hurt you once and I'm sorry. I won't hurt you again."

"You should go," She pushed him away, covering her face with her hands, "I need to…I have to think. I need you to go. Go finish things with Dubois. I need to be alone."

He tried to pull her back and she shook her head. "I'll go."

"Wait…"

"Don't follow me, please. I mean it, Leon. Just leave me alone."

She raced out into the rain leaving the door hanging wide open. The pain of it nearly cut him off at the knees. He felt like someone had dropped kicked him right in the fucking heart. He rubbed his chest to be sure it was still beating in there.

The cross brushed his hand. He curled his hand around it so tightly he felt it cut into his flesh.

He'd deal with Dubois. He'd do the job he'd been sent to do here. That was something he could handle, something he could control.

And then…then he'd find a way to clean up the mess he'd left behind.


	5. V: Redemption

+Author's note:

The darkness leads even as it lies. It breeds and builds shadows like an unstoppable thing. Is there anything that can stop it once it begins? Our hero is balancing on the tight rope of his own destruction. What waits beneath him?

The idea for this story was actually spawned one day while listening to The Light by Disturbed. Such a power song about the battle between darkness and light and finding the redemption of it. Beautiful. I encourage you to listen to it and help you understand where our hero finds his torment.

I appreciate the reviews so far. I don't ask for all positive and likely, in a world where people have opinions and share them, won't always get them. I like knowing what people think about my stuff. There is yet to be something unpredictable in a love story. Much like Capcom itself, the love story is a predictable but fun mess to play with and make fun to read.

Show me a love story without a cliché and I'll show you a boring love story. It's great fun to write this despite all the predictability of it. Remember, as you read it, I am but a girl with a big gooey heart. And I love love LOVE a love story.

V. Redemption: The Age of Reckoning

AUT NECA AUT NECARE

"Any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep."  
― Clive Barker, Days of Magic, Nights of War

:::::::::::::::::::::::::FIVE::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

He slipped into the office under the cover of darkness. They'd set up a fake emergency call across town to lure Dubois from the office. He jimmied open the back door and let himself in, using his pen light to shine carefully in the darkness.

Joel was keeping watch on the outside via their surveillance. The inside and the movements of Dubois was being carefully monitored by the Agents. He checked the com in his ear, "I'm in."

Joel's voice came back to him, steady, "It's all clear. She's headed across town."

Leon moved swiftly but carefully through the outer lobby of the office. He kept his pistol carefully ready at his side. There was a nice in the inner office. He took a deep breath and eased the door open.

A pen light was bobbling around the desk. He aimed his at it and aimed his gun.

Rebecca's voice whispered sharply, "It's me! Leon, it's me! Don't shoot."

He lowered the gun. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She lifted a tiny key in her hand and waved it at him. "I saw her put this in the safe under her desk. I came in to get it."

"You could have just told me where to look," He hissed at her, "Damnit Becca, get out of here."

Becca.

She paused, blanked for a moment by the nickname. It was totally the wrong time to be kinda touched by it. She shook her head and moved forward.

"Let's hurry. There isn't time to argue."

He gnashed his teeth, irritated beyond belief. The little minx, why was she always in his business? Why couldn't he find a single woman in his life that listened to a fucking word he said?

Under his breath, he muttered, "Women."

Rebecca moved quickly to the small keyhole hidden sweetly in the Buddha statue on the bookshelf. He blinked, surprised. She turned the key and a loud chime gonged loudly somewhere in the building, startling them both. Leon actually jumped.

She was trying to cover her smile. "Did that big noise scare you, hero?"

"Shut up," A little embarrassed, he touched the com in his ear, "Anything?"

"Dubois is still secure. But that gong alerted the local police. You've got a handful of minutes I'd say."

"Roger," Leon turned to Rebecca and she was gone. He glanced around sharply, swiftly. He moved into the outer office. A staircase had opened up where the desk had sat moments before. He raced toward it, trying to clear and move swiftly in pursuit of her at the same time.

At the bottom of the stairs they were immediately immersed into a dungeon. The length of it seemed endless and the time they had to explore seemed impossibly short. He called out, loudly, "Rebecca! Come on! We don't have any time! The police are coming!"

"Leon!" Her voice echoed through the cavernous length of it, "I found them! Oh hurry! We can't leave them like this."

Leon touched the com on his ear, "Joel, get the other two agents to run interference. We need more time."

"Got it!"

He raced toward the sound of her voice. His heart was pounding fast and furious as he hit the second flight of stairs and ran across the next hallway without halting. He hit the door at the end of that hallway and slid into the room, gun out and pointed.

Rebecca was on the floor beside one unconscious woman. Others were hung and suspended from the walls with shackles and rope. A machine was pumping and chugging loudly in the center of the room. It seemed to be processing blood from the hanging women from tubes hooked up to their inner thighs.

"Christ…"

Rebecca turned to the machine. "Cut them down, please! Hurry!"

Leon moved to the first one. She was blonde and young and very cold to the touch. The tube was hooked to her femoral artery in the inner thigh. If they removed it…

He turned to Rebecca, "Becca…honey."

She shook her head and hit a switch on the machine, the chugging stopped. Silence filled the air around them. "No."

"Rebecca…look at me."

In denial, she moved to the next girl hanging. No more than 18 or so, she was pretty and red haired. Her skin was milk white and her flesh so, so cold. Rebecca felt the boil of the tears in the back of her throat. "If we get them down, I can use hemostat to stop the bleeding."

"Rebecca, there are too many here. And the amount of blood they've lost."

"Let the police find us!" She turned to him, desperate, "Let the police find them! Maybe…maybe they can…"

He scanned her face, saw the hope there and the desperation. He wanted to tell her the truth, that none of these women would likely survive. He wanted to tell her they should run and leave these women to die.

And because it was something Ada would have said, he nodded instead. "Ok."

Rebecca nodded back, desperately, "Ok?"

"Yeah. Come here." He moved to the girl on the floor, still and cold, but alive and not yet bound to the wall. "Help me with her. We'll let the police come. We'll let them find these women. And we'll go after Dubois ourselves."

"Yes! Ok! Thank you." He let Rebecca work on the girl on the floor while he studied her restraints. She was bound to the floor with a single length of chain. Likely the only key was on Dubois. Rebecca dug into her pack, looking for smelling salts.

Leon shifted his pistol to the weak spot on the floor where the chain was linked. "Get back."

Rebecca shifted and he fired three shots at the chain. It snapped, sparking with metal and light. Rebecca snapped the salts beneath the girl's nose. She roused but didn't wake.

Leon flipped his gun and offered to her. "Take it."

"What?"

"You know what you're doing; I made damn sure of that. I'll take her." He bent and lifted the small girl into his arms. If she was barely sixteen, he'd eat his hat. "Let's go."

They moved to the far side of the room and up the stairs. They didn't speak while they made their way to the rear door of the office. They had just slipped out when the police burst in the front, yelling and waving lights.

"Get down," He hissed it at her as they hurried quietly across the yard. They were just slipping out the back gate when a voice yelled at them in French.

"What do you zink you a' doink?"

Leon turned, hoisting the girl to him. He gave Dubois his back, "You've been a very bad girl, Dr. Dubois."

She had a very big, very ugly shot gun aimed at them. "Put her down, le batard! Slowly!"

The night swirled around them, too fast, too slow. There was only a handful of seconds to make a decision. "Rebecca?"

"Yeah."

"Do it."

Rebecca drilled the pretty doctor with his pistol. The woman blasted the shotgun simultaneously. The world was suddenly wet and red with blood.

He waited for the pain to follow but he wasn't shot. He was fine. He glanced at Rebecca. She was breathing heavily but she seemed unhurt. The girl in his arms was alive and sleeping.

Rebecca was shaking now.

"Is she dead?"

Rebecca was trembling so bad that the gun was unsteady.

"Rebecca, is she dead?"

She glanced sideways at his face. Something on it seemed to give her strength, "Yeah. She's dead. But I didn't do it."

"What?"

"I didn't do it. I hit her in the chest. Somebody…somebody else took out her head."

He glanced up, slowly, to the rooftop across the alley from them. She stood there, clad in black. She gestured with her head, shifting the rifle behind her back. And then she turned and disappeared from the rooftop.

Leon wasn't sure what he felt in that moment but he knew, just then, that she had given him the only love she knew how to give. "Rebecca, let the agents know to come get her body. Hurry. Let's get this girl somewhere safe."

They hurried from the alley way toward the street. He paused as the all terrain vehicle came to stop in front of them. They loaded up in the back just as the first cop car rounded the corner with its siren blaring. They turned down a side street, agilely avoiding detection.

Back in the motel, Rebecca got to work treating the girl. She started triaging her while they radioed headquarters for a med evac. Leon stepped outside to light up a cigarette. It flared bright and orange before he took his first drag.

His phone bleeped a text message at him. He lifted it, eyeing the short, brief, and loaded words. "You're welcome."

He stared at the message for a long moment, unsure of how he felt. She'd go and be gone for a day or a thousand days. She'd return when it suited her and likely throw his world into a great mess once more. She'd bleed him dry before it was done. The bitch in red.

The phone bleeped again, only once more. The words this time made him close his eyes for a long moment and breathe. "I'm sorry."

What the fuck did that mean? I'm sorry? What game was this? Sorry for what?

It was so infuriating to know her, more so to feel what he felt for her; the mess of emotions that swirled and curled like angry snakes in his belly. His Helen of Troy.

The chopper touched down in a field just beyond the motel. A pair of medics came in, they took the girl, they disappeared back into the chopper. The air swirled and the night breathed. And then all was quiet once more.

Joel, giddy with excitement, patted his arm. "I'm going to go get our gear together. The data we're going to get from Dubois' phone alone is amazing! We should have Gomez' coordinates within the next twenty four hours. They've got us on a flight out of here in the morning."

"Awesome..Joel?"

"Good work here. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks!"

Leon turned back to his room. He moved inside, shedding bloody clothes as he walked. He left his boots by the front door, his vest near the bed. He left his shirt hanging over the handle of the door. He shucked his pants by the toilet and all but fell in the shower.

The steam rose around him, easing the ache in his back from carrying the girl. The ache in his soul? There was no cure for that.

He came out of the bathroom with a towel hanging around his hips. There was a knock on the door. He opened it to find Rebecca standing there looking at him.

Ok…maybe there was a cure for that after all.

"Hi."

"Hi." She lifted a bottle of whiskey. "Drink?"

"Yeah." He opened the door to let her inside. She moved in, nervous. He retrieved two coffee mugs from the counter and set them down so she could pour two fingers in each glass.

She made an impossibly adorable face while she sipped hers. He shot his back in one fiery gulp. It spread the warmth of its touch around his gut, filling him with a sense of relaxation. Come on, it begged, have another. And so he did.

"Give me a second to throw something on."

"No." She shook her head, "Don't do that."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not," She paused, sighed, and shot the whiskey back in one gulp…and immediately started coughing. He laughed a little, charmed beyond belief. She shrugged, shuddered. "Awful. Why do you drink it?"

"I tend to be drawn to things that are bad for me."

"No shit."

He laughed again and it felt so good to do it. It nearly took him to his knees to feel the simple joy of her company. He hated to end it but he had to say one thing, "You could have died back there."

"What?"

"You can't do that again."

"Do what?"

"You can't go running off like that. You need to just…"

Her eyes flashed, blue and bright. "I need to what? Stay put? Be a good girl and stay in my place?"

"Don't twist my words. I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"You're not a field agent! You're a doctor. Stay where you're safe from now on."

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. "Stay where good little girls should? In the lab? Where the nerds belong?"

"Damnit Becca, stop trying to piss me off."

She was quiet for a long moment. "When did you start calling me that?"

"What?"

"Becca. You keep calling me that. When did that start?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's your name."

"True. Kinda." She met his eyes now and held them, "I could help you back there. So I did. Don't forget, Leon, before I was just a lab rat, I was in S.T.A.R.S. I'm not useless. Any maybe what you're meaning to say is thank you. I saved your life."

He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another shot. "Ok. Maybe that's true. But I wouldn't have needed the help if you hadn't insisted we try to save the women. It wasn't smart."

She was quiet for so long that he turned to be sure she hadn't left the room. "You wanted to leave them there? To die?"

He said nothing.

"No. You wouldn't do that. That's not you. You try to save everyone you can. Leaving them behind…that's what SHE would have done."

Again, he said nothing. He shot the whiskey back in a smooth motion.

She grabbed his arm and spun him around. Her hand grabbed the cross at his throat and squeezed it. "You know in your heart that leaving them was wrong. We had to TRY. Maybe we died. Maybe we failed. But don't you get it?! The only difference between the good guys and the bad guys is what's worth dying for! What's worth dying for, Leon? Or do you even know any more?"

He grabbed her arms, sharp and fast, hard enough she gasped. He shook her, knocking her teeth together. "Do you think I would have risked you, risked a hair on your head, for any of those women?! There is nobody, anywhere, on earth worth that!"

She shook her head while the tears filled her eyes. She still held the cross in her hand. She pressed it, gently now, against his chest. "Oh, Leon. I can appreciate the sentiment in that. I can appreciate what it means. It doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it ok to choose one person over what's right. Faith isn't about what we want. It's about what we need. Sometimes what's right means we lose something we want. That's what defines us from the bad guys. You used to know that."

Leon gentled his grip on her arms and let her go. She settled back to the floor, watching him. "You've lost sight of why you fight. You've lost sight of what matters most. It's not me." She grabbed the whiskey bottle from him when he tried to pour another glass, "It's not even you. It's them. The people. The world. The people who can't fight, the ones who need you to do it for them. Mothers, daughters, sons and husbands. The ones who can't stop it. Who don't know how. You have to stand up for them. If you don't, they will have no one."

He whispered it now, softly and a little sad, "Sometimes I don't know if I care anymore."

Rebecca took a long swig of the whiskey herself now and coughed again. She slapped the bottle down on the table between them. "Yes you do. It's why you drink. It's why you beat yourself up all the time. You care too much. And to counteract that, you try to ease the pain of it with this." She hefted the bottle and poured him a shot in the mug. She slid it across the table to him. "The good ones feel it, Leon. They feel every loss. They feel every victory. They bleed and scream and die with it. And they get back up and keep fighting. If you didn't feel it so much, you wouldn't be a good guy anymore."

She waited a moment while he stared at the shot on the table between them. "You'd be Ada Wong."

He curled his hand around the mug. "Yeah? Her life seems a lot less complicated."

"It is. When you don't have to face yourself in the mirror anymore and wonder what makes you whole. Life gets a lot easier when you don't have any morals, any values, or any regrets to hold you back. But you know what else? When you make a deal with the devil, he doesn't just get one piece of your soul….eventually he gets the whole damn thing. And all that's left is a shell. If you let her, she'll take you with her into that emptiness."

He lifted his eyes to her face.

"Only you can decide if there's nothing here worth fighting for."

It was quiet between them for a long moment while they looked at each other. He finally spoke, breaking the pregnant silence. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. It's going to haunt me for the rest of my life."

Rebecca scanned his face, once, twice, three times and finally answered, "I know you are. And that's why she hasn't won. Not yet. Because if she had, you wouldn't give a shit about that. Or me."

"I don't want to feel this way any more."

"What way?"

He met her gaze, held it, "Broken."

She felt her heart ache for him. For them both. "What do you want to feel?"

And now his voice was low, soft, and thick with something she had no name for, "Alive."

She held his eyes, hard, determined. The flush of want for him nearly ate her alive from the inside out. She clenched her fists. "I wanted to give this up. To give you up. I wanted to just let you have her, let her have you. Let the two of you kill each other. Maybe if I did that, I wouldn't feel so full of you all the time. I wouldn't want to taste you and touch you and never let go. But I can't. I CAN'T. Because I can't even breathe without wanting you. And there is nothing that feels more alive than that."

He was watching her now and there was something predatory in his eyes, something hungry and desperate and raw. He left the shot untouched on the table. Whiskey wasn't going to touch the need that boiled and bled and bred inside of him like a brewing storm. There wasn't any drink on earth that could.

He tossed his hair back from his eyes and crooked his finger at her. "Show me."

She moved. He moved. Her hands grabbed for the towel and jerked it free. He lifted her, easily, effortlessly beneath her arms and tossed her.

She bounced across the bed and came to her knees in the center. They grappled, desperately, deliciously. Her jerked her tank top over her head and set his teeth against her throat.

She raked her nails up his back hard enough to draw a grunt from him. He caught the backs of her thighs and spilled her to the mattress beneath him. His hands jerked off the little yoga pants she wore and the flimsy white panties beneath it in a single motion.

She grabbed the cross in her hand and looped it once around, like a chain, like a leash. She jerked him down to her to kiss him. He hiked her left leg over his hip, plunging his tongue into her mouth like he'd die without the taste of her. She grabbed the back of his head to mash their mouths closer together even as she hooked her other leg around his flank and humped her hips toward him.

Leon braced himself on one arm as he shoved himself inside of her. He was furious with it, nearly ridiculously desperate. She gasped, bowed, even as the relentless hammer of his body drove her against the bed without regard for the strength in each thrust. He drove her across the bed with it until he could grab the headboard, reangle himself and plow himself so deeply into her he was fairly sure he'd come out of the other side.

Rebecca urged him on, grabbing any part of him she could reach to hold on to him. She was keening high and loud in her throat, tossed mercilessly into the waves of salacious and unrelenting pleasure. The angle was too sharp, too much and not enough. The pain hit the pleasure and blended, combined, bursting from her mouth and skin in an orgasm that was nearly too much to take. She was pretty sure she was going to explode and become nothing but pink mist and pleasure.

Sweating, gasping, he jerked at her hips and flipped her over. She scrambled, grabbed the head board and held on while he forced her with him into a furious and nearly screaming ride. She was chanting something over and over. No? Was she saying no? But it sounded like no, don't stop. His hand curled and gripped into her hair to hold her against him.

Just when she thought he'd kill her. Just when she thought he'd literally kill her with the force, the pain and the pleasure and the greedy, horrible, wonderful, relentless need of it all..he flipped her over again and came down atop her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and their hands met, slapping together above her head. He kissed her, tongue and teeth and sticky, salty sweat. She yelled once more, loudly, commanding him. "NOW!"

The feel of her around him, a sucking, wet, wanton and demanding mouth that demanded he fill her. Fill her up with the need in him for him. To fill her full of his sticky, desperate seed. He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. She met his eyes, gasping.

"Now." He whispered it against her mouth and licked her lips, once, twice. He stroked his body into her, slow, slow, deep and hard. She grabbed his face and caught her breath. Her vision blurred and he palmed one little breast, held it, to feel the rapid thunder of her heart.

"Now," She gasped and kissed him, eyes open to see his face, "Now."

He surged into her once more and wrapped both arms around her back to try to pull her into him until their skin split and made them one. She wrapped arms and legs around him like an octopus, trying to get closer. He filled her up, shoved hilt deep in her body, he pumped her full of him until he wasn't sure where he ended and she began.

His body shuddered, as a spasm shot up from his toes to his ears, he clutched her to him like a rag doll and buried his face in her neck and shoulder. Beneath him, she laid gasping and floating on the smooth waves of release. The tremors though his body were like small electrical shocks.

She turned her face, he turned his, and they kissed soft and almost sweetly.

Her arms and legs fell out to the sides, spread eagle. She twitched. He leaned up to see her face, "Are you alright?"

She opened one eye, peering at him. "I think I may be dead. Am I dead?"

He shifted his groin against her, still buried inside of her. They both made some sound of excitement. "Nope. Not dead."

Rebecca blinked open her eyes, "Shit."

He tried to focus, attempted to blow the sweaty hair out of his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I bought condoms."

Leon shifted a little on top of her. He pushed himself into her a little more. He grunted, she grabbed at his ass to pull him deeper.

"Probably something you should have mentioned before."

She laughed a little, weakly, "Seems that way."

He blinked a little. "I'm clean. I don't know if that matters. But I get tested every six months. Not because I'm a man whore or …uh…hah. I just…it's something they do."

She eyed his face, found his awkwardness charming as hell. "I know. It wasn't that. It was the pregnancy question."

And from the look on his face she could see that had not, not even once, crossed his mind. Men. What it must be like to be one.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"So…is that something we should…you know like find out about or…"

She patted his ass, soothing him. "I'm pretty sure the timing is all wrong. Don't worry. But just in case, we may want to start using the condoms."

"I see your point."

He slid out of her finally and brought her breath in a sharp gasp. She could feel the soreness of a good hard fucking in her muscles. She relished it, rolling to her side with a smile.

She watched him move, sweaty and naked; he picked up the whiskey and shot it back. God, she thought, was there anything more beautiful in the whole of the world then Leon Kennedy's ass? She made herself giggle.

He glanced at her and smiled. "What? Or do I want to know?"

She leaned on one elbow, watching him. "You gave a speech at Quantico a few years back. I was there, though we didn't know each other at the time. You gave a speech about the Ganado and Los Illuminados and what happened with Simmons in Tatchi. You wore a beautiful suit in dove gray and this killer blue shirt with a white tie. Probably all of it was worth more than I made in a month…anyway…I remember sitting in the audience watching you…"

Quantico, 2015

They sat together in two empty seats, Rebecca and Allison Frye, another researcher sent to observe the lecture. Allison was a pretty girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She and Rebecca had become fast friends when they'd started working together a few weeks before.

"So this guy who's lecturing…" She glanced at the program, "Kennedy. You know him?"

"I know OF him." Rebecca looked at her own program, "He survived Raccoon City like I did. Apparently he went on to do some pretty amazing stuff. While I ended up…well…you know working in a lab."

"Don't sell yourself short, you finished med school and college before you turned eighteen. Your understanding of virology rivals some of the best I've ever seen. You might not kick in doors sister, but you're pretty bad ass."

Rebecca chuckled. "You buttering me up, Frye?"

Allison winked at her. "I'd rather butter him up. Look!"

And that was it. That was the first time she'd seen him person. He crossed the stage like he owned it. All confidence and grace and stunning fashion sense. He took the podium and the light shifted to him.

She was riveted by the sound of his voice. She was sort of in love with him right in that moment. She glanced at a few other girls. It would seem she wasn't alone in that.

Allison whispered, "He's gorgeous. Did you know he was gorgeous?"

"No. It wasn't something anyone felt to mention during all the briefings I've sat in on."

On the stage, Leon began to speak, "The Chrysalid Virus, commonly abbreviated as "C-Virus", is a variant of the Progenitor virus used in a series of bioterrorist attacks in 2012 and 2013. They are responsible for mutations such as the J'avo." The screen behind him turned on and the lights when down.

The screen began showing various forms of the J'avo that had been present in Edonia and later in Tatchi. "The C-Virus was created by combining an enhanced version of the Veronica virus with the G-virus variant within Sherry Birkin's blood." Sherry Birkin appeared on the screen. Beautiful, ethereal, and apparently unlike anyone else in the world, "Unlike the t-Virus, the C-Virus allows the infected to maintain some of its intelligence, allowing the creatures that mutate from the virus to co-ordinate attacks and use weapons. A similar occurrence could be found in the usage of the plagas, meaning parasites, that were first noted to have appeared in Spain courtesy of the Los iluminados."

He walked a little from the podium, gesturing the screen behind him. The images changed to those of the cult he'd encountered rescuing the President's daughter years before. "Los Iluminados from Spanish, meaning "The Enlightened Ones", was a religion native to an isolated, mountainous region of Spain. It lasted throughout ancient times until several centuries ago when its adherents were eradicated by a Christian army led by the First Castellan, a folk figure in the region. It experienced a mysterious revival at the start of the twenty-first century and became militant. The introduction of plagas differed from the C-virus in its original conception. Plagas was excavated from spores found within the walls of the sealed caves beneath the cults operating headquarters."

He gestured to someone and a video began to play on the screen. It showed a man in the throws of mutation from infection. "This man is suffering from ingestion of the plagas. In the advanced stages, it is literally forced down the throat of the victim. In the ingested form, the conversion to mutation is immediate. If one is injected with the compound, the mutation is slower and can take days."

The video ended on the man turning into some kind of monster with an enormous tentacle for a head. People in the audience murmured, horrified. Kennedy gestured and another movie began.

This was of a pod. It was slimey and grotesque, bubbling and lined with thick, pulsing veins. It cracked loudly and started to hatch. From within its slippery, gooey insides burst a woman – fully formed and naked – she fell from the egg to the floor like a hatched chick, gasping and shivering. The video zoomed in on her face – beautiful, Asian, and powerful. She had something in her eyes that was already full formed personality.

"That was what is now known as "Project Ada", a secret project conducted by the once powerful Director Derek Simmons. He began it in his obsession over the, still at large, spy Ada Wong." The screen flashed to show a beautiful woman who was identical to the one from the pod, "So he used a brilliant researcher named Carla Radames as a guinea pig. She went on to develop, what is known at this time, as only three samples of the C-Virus. Simmons successfully created a doppelganger and several more before the project was shut down. The intel was leaked and the leaks are still being chased down."

He returned to the podium and the lights came up, "The fall out from Project Ada and the C-Virus was successfully mitigated with the destruction of Simmons, the containment of his lab, and the final complete evacuation and further sanitation of Tatchi."

From the audience, a voice queried, "You mean when you blew it up?"

Kennedy lifted a brow, scanning the crowd. "Yes. Sanitation refers to complete and utter destruction. Similar to what occurred in Raccoon City."

"There were still people alive down there. Still people in Raccoon and Tatchi. How is this outrage being handled by the administration?"

"The President weighed all options before sanitation was chosen. The risk of contamination and further infection was too great. It was the only reasonable recourse."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Kennedy."

Kennedy inclined his head at the objector. "I feel the loss of those people, sir. I promise you. I was on the ground when Tatchi went to hell. I saw it all happen first hand. I put Simmons down. And the thing he became…I would have done anything to stop that from spreading. I will wipe bio-terrorism from the face of the earth, I can promise you that. And I regret the loss of any one who was still alive when those bombs went off. But sometimes a small loss has to make way for something bigger to occur. Thank you for your time today, ladies and gentlemen. If you'll excuse me."

He exited the stage to the left.

Allison put her hand to her chest and fell over in her seat. "I want to marry him. He didn't even sweat that rude asshole."

Rebecca smiled a little and rose. She hurried into the lobby. Because she had seen something else on that handsome face and she wanted to be just a little closer to it.

She crossed the lobby to the small gathering of people surrounding him. He was shaking hands with various directors and other faculty. She snatched a drink off a circulating tray and slid through others until she was in front of him.

Kennedy turned and smiled at her, politely.

She offered him the drink.

He lifted a brow, glanced at it, at her. "I'm on duty. But thank you Miss…?"

She offered her hand to shake. And that was it. That was probably it. Had always probably been it for her. The moment she knew he was going to be something to her.

"Chambers. I'm Rebecca Chambers."

He tilted his head, squinted a little. "Ah. Right. Chambers. You were STARS?"

"I was. With Chris Redfield."

"Got it," He smiled a little broader, "Another Raccoon City survivor. Should we toast?"

She glanced around; it seemed no one was paying attention. She saluted him and took a sip of the drink. It was scotch of some kind and very strong. She choked and coughed and effectively killed her suave moment.

But that smile. THAT SMILE. It bloomed into a grin. And his face…lord. So worth the choking.

He patted her back a little. "Ok?"

"I feel like I should make some super cool comment right now and defend myself."

"I'm all ears."

She leaned up and he was very close now. Very very close. She shifted a little more toward him. And she was kinda aware she as staring at his mouth. "I got nothing."

He leaned a little closer to her and said, quietly, "I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe here, Ms. Chambers. If you'll excuse me?"

He winked at her and moved through the crowd away.

She pressed a hand to her belly and sighed.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

Rebecca smiled a little and shrugged. "So that was it. The first time I saw you. I wish I'd known then that you were just looking for the right girl to bust your cherry, I'd have done it right there in that damn bathroom."

Leon chuckled, charmed as always by her candor, he slid onto the bed and settled himself between her legs. He laid his head on her belly. She slid her fingers into his hair, stroking him.

"I thought you might have been the cutest thing I'd ever seen."

Rebecca laughed. "That's a terrible thing to say to a girl."

"Why? You were adorable. Sorta charmingly bumbling."

"Oh dear lord. That's even worse."

"Why? What's wrong with cute?"

"I wanted to throw you down on that stage, rip that fucking suit off of you, and suck your dick until your brains blew out the back of your head. And you thought I was "cute"? Seems unfair."

He shifted a little against her and slid his tongue over her sweaty belly. She shivered. "I still think you're cute. Although I wish you'd thrown me down on that stage and done just that. What a show we'd have put on for all those nerds."

Rebecca chuckled, scooping his sweaty hair off his face. He swirled his tongue in her belly button. She trembled. "Are you going to be something I have to get over, Leon Kennedy?"

"I'm going to try not to be." He slid his hand over her leg, pausing to skim the scar across her shin bone. He lingered on it, stroking.

"Arias." She brushed her fingers over his face. "Bullet on the roof that night."

He rolled his face to look at her, drowning her with the depth of those blue eyes. "I'm sorry I was late that night. I wish I'd gotten there sooner."

She drew him up to her and kissed him. Her hands slid over his face, memorizing. "Sorry you saved my life. Hah. What an enigma you are."

New York City, 2017

There was a feeling that came with dying. It was fire and brimstone, heat and hunger. It was boiling blood and pressure on the chest and pain like someone had ripped open your skin and filled it with knives. She lay back against the wall trying to breathe, trying to keep the infection in her body from turning her into a monster.

She lifted a hand, trying so hard to stop the thing that had been Glenn Arias from crushing Chris Redfield in its giant clawed hand. "No…" A pathetic whisper.

The elevator pinged. She turned her head, slowly, heavily. It was what she figured her last clear thought would ever be: Thank God for Leon Kennedy.

He came out of the elevator on the Ducati. He was a warrior on a steed riding into battle. He leapt from the bike and rolled. Did he hesitate when faced with something that would rip him apart?

Nope.

Rebecca sank to the side as the fighting began. She watched the bullets, the blood, the screaming. She watched Chris running toward the elevator.

Wait…she thought desperately…wait…you're leaving him die!

She fell to the ground and lay there, watching it pick him up and shake him. She tried to crawl, tried to move toward him. And it threw him.

It threw him across the rooftop like a swatted fly.

She watched him hit and roll, she heard the snap of something in his arm breaking. She felt the world begin to go red and black at the edges and her eyes slid closed.

"…at me!"

She gasped, body bowing, "Rebecca, look at me!"

He had her cupped in his other arm. The broken one was tightly tucked against his body. He shook her a little. "Stay with me! Chris is coming!"

Her hands shot out and grappled at his leather jacket. She gasped, shaking. "Leon…Leon…tell Chris…tell him…"

"Don't!" He shook her again, filthly, bloody, and broken and he sounded so strong, so wonderful. "Don't you give up! Not now. Not like this. Look at me and focus on me. Just focus right here on my face."

"Hurts," She felt the heat burning through her body now, like wild fire, "Can't. Help!"

He made some sound of awful frustration. "I can't. I don't know how. Can you tell me how? Tell me, and I'll do it."

She grabbed desperately the gun tucked into his thigh holster. He tried to block her with his broken arm and hissed, going white around the mouth with pain, "Stop it. Stop it! I'm not going to shoot you."

"Leon…please help…please…" She started to weep now, desperate for it to end.

The lights went out. The world bled red and black, it shifted and came back together. She was dreaming and drifting and floating. His face was so handsome and lodged there in her brain. What a way to die.

She came to again on that rooftop, gasping and inhaling the vaccine. Chris had her held in one arm, the other holding the mask over her face. She grabbed his vest with one hand. Her eyes darted around behind him, beside him.

He must have known what she was looking for, he gestured with his head. "He's here. He's fine. We're fine. How are you?"

She lifted a shaky thumbs up and he laughed, squeezing her a little around the shoulders.

On the helicopter, huddled in her blanket, she kept glancing over at him where he sat against the hanger door, looking out at the coming dawn. He had his broken arm held tightly against his body. Chris kept patting her knee where she sat, reassuring himself and her that they were ok.

She wanted to touch Leon Kennedy.

It was the first real moment she'd known he was something special to her.

She wanted to move across the helicopter and curl up against him.

Even there, a hero with them, he was separate. Different. She shifted a little to face him as Chris moved up front to check in with the pilot.

"What now?" Her voice was quiet against the whirring blades. "Back to vacation?"

He rolled his head to look at her and smile a little. "Haven't had much luck with it so far."

She shifted in her blanket and moved toward him. She settled down beside him on the cool metal floor. "Now we don't have to shout at each other. Can I check your arm?"

Leon shrugged his good shoulder. She shifted a little over him. Her hands moved to his jacket zipper. "Is this ok?"

"Sure."

She unzipped him while he hissed in pain. Her hands slid inside the jacket over his navy v-neck t-shirt. She felt gently along the arm and up to the shoulder, pressing along his upper chest and clavicle. She leaned in close to his ear so he could hear her speak, "It's not broken."

Surprised, he met her eyes. "Yeah?"

"Dislocated. Want me to pop it back in?"

He shuddered a little but nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

"Breathe," She laughed and gripped his bad arm. He grunted, going a little pale with the pain of it. "Put your good arm around my back and brace yourself."

Totally unnecessary to have him do that of course but it get her into the circle of his arms. So she was ok with the lie of it. She smiled at him. "Breathe, Mr. Kennedy."

"It's Leon." He turned and their faces were so very close. "It's Leon. You're about to cause me inexplicable and continuous pain. When a woman does that, she gets to call me Leon."

Rebecca glanced down at his mouth, up at his eyes, "Ok..Leon." He glanced at her mouth. Her belly bottomed out. She thought, maybe, he'd lean over and kiss her. Oh she wanted him to. She wanted him to sooooo badly. Instead she used his distraction to cause him a great deal of necessary pain and jerked his arm.

He let out a loud shout and pulled her against him with the pain of it. The arm popped back into socket with a wet click. She moved into him, bracing it against his chest. She held his arm against him.

She didn't say anything about the fact his other arm was still wrapped around her back. Or that his forehead was leaning against her chest while he took deep breaths. She wanted it to go on forever.

Chris came back from the cock pit with a sling and they set his arm in it. "I heard you scream like a girl. How embarrassing for you."

"Kiss my ass, Redfield."

Chris chuckled good naturedly and settled back in his spot near the front.

Rebecca settled onto the floor beside Leon. "You ok? It's gonna be sore for a few days. Buy some anti-inflammatories."

"I can move it. I couldn't before. So I'll be ok."

She settled her head back against the wall of the helicopter and closed her eyes. She fell asleep that way, snoring softly. Her head tilted and drifted over to settle on his shoulder.

Chris lifted a brow at him. Leon echoed it.

"Should I give you a speech about how she's like my little sister?"

Leon smirked. "I don't think that's necessary. Do you?"

"You tell me."

"I'm not looking for anything like that man."

Chris eyed him seriously and shrugged. "Looking or not, I think it found you, brother."

Leon glanced at the girl sleeping on his shoulder. Such a pretty little thing. The freckles on her nose made her face impossibly cute. He lifted his good arm and she slid in against him in her sleep, settling her head at the place where his neck and shoulder met.

She woke up that way, cuddled against him. Her leg looped over his. She lifted her head, slowly. And looked at him, for the very first time, when sleep had him and his armor was down. There was no thought, no struggle, no fight on him now. He was just a man in rest. His cheek had settled on top of her head while they rested. When she shifted her head, his slipped a little farther over.

She lifted her hand and brushed her fingers, oh so softly, over his mouth.

In sleep, he shifted toward her. And that mouth kissed her finger tips. And she knew. She KNEW. He was made for love. A fighter, yes, whose body knew what it wanted while it rested. A lover. He was a lover.

She risked a little more touching. She touched his eyebrow, smooth and soft. And risked what no one had dared before: she touched his hair. It was as soft as it looked.

Aware that she was being watched, she rolled her eyes.

Chris was watching her with lifted brows.

He said, quietly, "What are you thinking there, Chambers?

She turned back to look at the man who slumbered there and shifted a little. His head settled now against her shoulder. She gave Chris the look of a drowning woman. "Can I keep him?"

Chris laughed, winking. "I'm a little jealous actually."

"Oh? Wanted me for yourself?"

He laughed again, shifting the assault rifle he held to lean it against the wall. All muscles, he was something to look at. A girl was blind, stupid, or both not to want him. The girl in Rebecca had crushed on him so hard she'd been pretty sure she'd die if he didn't love her back. The woman appreciated that he was something amazing, but he wasn't for her.

He crossed those big arms over his chest and settled back to try to sleep himself. "If I would have had you, I would have ruined you for all other men."

Rebecca covered her mouth to hold in the laugh and not wake Leon. "Way to be humble, Redfield."

Chris winked, chuckling. "Seriously though. I don't think anyone has ever looked at me like that. I'm jealous."

"I was looking all those years ago. You just weren't looking back."

Chris snorted, settling his head back against the wall. "Well shit…that's my loss, isn't it?"

Rebecca slid an arm behind Leon's leather jacket, cuddling him a little more against her. He made a murmuring sound in his sleep and kissed the side of her neck. The hair on her body stood straight up. Loss. There was loss somewhere in this helicopter alright. But it wasn't sweet and simple flirtation between two old friends…no it was what happened when the man beside her opened his eyes and walked away.

The loss, it was all hers.

Happy Goose Bay, 2017

The silence filled the room around him when she stopped speaking.

He finally broke it by speaking quietly, "All this time…"

She shrugged, down playing the intensity in the air. "I have trouble letting go too."

"Why?" And he sounded genuinely amazed and confused.

She gripped the cross he wore and rolled, putting him beneath her. Her hands skimmed over him, one slow part at a time. "You move me. The sight of you, the smell of you, the taste of you. I could spend forever looking at you. What comes next? What comes after I go blind from it? I don't care. It's worth every uncomfortable cliché in the book to feel it. The way I feel when I'm with you…I'm in love with you. And it feels like flying."

He sat up, spilled her into his lap. Her arms and legs wrapped around him. His arms banded her to him and his cheek turned against her breast, listening to her heart beat. She held him to her, stroking his hair.

"Leon," She put her cheek against his soft damp hair, "If I were to go back a thousand years and tell you then, it wouldn't be enough time. I don't know what happens now. Where we go, what we do but I know this: I will never stop loving you. Even if you don't want me to. So that's what you get. That's what happens when you let me in. You get the whole thing. Think you can handle that?"

She started to lean back and laugh a little but he held her, tight. "Not yet. Just…not yet. Give me a minute."

Touched, she kept holding on. "I'll give you all of them."

"Rebecca," His hands slid up her back and over her shoulders and he drug her down to kiss her, slow, smooth. It was different. It resonated inside of her like an echo across the rolling valleys on an empty plain.

He kissed her like he loved her. And it filled her with such hope, such bright and blinding hope, that she wanted to curl up inside that kiss and die. He drew her back, skimmed her face, "Tell me."

She smiled at him, ran her hands over his arms, "I love you. Everything about you. Your brooding darkness, your terrible sense of humor, your kinda dorky laugh…"

"Hold on now.."

"I love your taste, your smell, your strange fascination with tacos."

"They are the perfect food. You can put anything you want on them."

"…and your interest in old reruns of Antique Road Show."

"Again…I WILL find something in my attic that used to belong to George Washington or something. I will."

"I love your body." She underlined this point by shifting just a little, her hands slid over him possessively, "God, your body. Was it made to torture me? Or just make me yearn?"

"Both," He laughed and pressed a kissed to one little breast, "I do that to the ladies. My milkshake brings all the girls to the yard."

She laughed delightedly. "Lord, you're ridiculous. Why weren't you married before I came along?"

"Many tried, none succeeded." He cupped her face and kissed her. "Maybe I was waiting for someone."

"Oh please let it be me," She laughed, snuggling to him. "Is it me?"

He rolled her head back with his hands, scooping her hair back from those laughing eyes. He smiled, slow, sweet, and wonderful. "Oh it's you. Maybe it's always needed to be you."

"I know how you feel about her, Leon. I don't need any promises. I just need to love you. Say yes. For however long it lasts…say yes."

He shifted, slid her unto her back. He continued holding her face. They stared at each other and there were a thousand things unsaid. Maybe there always would be.

But there was one word that say it all right in this moment. One. And it was the right word. It would give them each other for just as long as any word could.

So he gave it to her and gave her himself, all that he had to give her, "Yes."


	6. VI: Masquerade

+Author's note:

As our tale of sin and sex and the soul continues, we find our hero one step closer to salvation. But at what price? To really be saved, he must first be freed. What is he willing to sacrifice to free himself from the devil that tempts his soul?

What do you risk when the darkness is so close and the light so small?

How do you deny the duality of your own nature?

Slainte.

….

VI. Masquerade and the Power of Faith

VESTIS VIRUM REDDIT

"You are the music while the music lasts." – T.S. Elliot

:::::::::::::::::::::::::SIX::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Vito De Mare, Italy 2017

The trail to Maria Gomez led them across the ocean. The trip was surprisingly easy and made on a private jet. The Italian province of Vito De Mare was little more than a tiny island floating off the tip of the boot of the country. It was a haven for the wealthy, the bored, and the overtly depraved.

What Vito De Mare was primarily known for was its night life. Swingers frequented the island, sharing in their sexual delights with others of the bored and idle nature. Sex games were the theme of things in most fronts, offering moonlight masquerades and anonymous delights to those who sought to fill their souls with such sins of the flesh.

The blending in was going to require a fair amount of footwork and…handiwork. Leon slipped on the expensive Dolce and Gabbana suit in commanding black, double breasted, silk, with peak lapels and a vest beneath, that accompanied his costume with little concern for it. The intricate venetian metal mask he slid onto his face made the whole look, which might have been Vogue and very high fashion, a sensual edge that promised the viewer a different kind of delight beneath the expensive packaging.

He was lean, handsome, charismatic and charming – he'd blend right in. Beneath the suit, he wore an inner pants holster that placed his pistol at the small of his back. Charming or not, he was never unarmed.

Joel, Rebecca, and their two newest accompaniments: Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield, all were gathered in the living room of the three thousand dollar a night suite being used as HQ for this operation. Jill was dressed in black as well. The dress was so low cut that it left little to the imagination…and everything to it. It was a dress the promised something dark and delicious to any who wanted to try to touch and see if they got lucky, or lost a hand trying. Her blonde hair was artfully styled in piles of twists and curls around her face. She wore a little mask herself, this one lacy and red, hiding but not really hiding, the delicate features of her face.

Chris chuckled when he saw them stand next to each other. "You two look like the top of a Fifty Shades of Grey wedding cake."

Jill snickered, "You're just jealous because you have to wait here while we get to go play."

"Maybe." Chris snorted again, "Probably. But I'm shit in the playacting department. I'd ruin it."

Leon rolled his eyes as they moved over to get outfitted with communicators. Joel tucked a tiny piece in Leon's ear and put the battery pack, the shape of a cigarette lighter, into his breast pocket. He clipped a little camera in the form of a diamond tie tack to the front knot of his silky white tie.

He literally stuck his hand in the front of Jill's dress.

She raised her brows, shocked. But Chris snickered. Joel cared as much about boobs as the Pope did about sex. He fitted the device to her and added the one in her ear. "There! Voila!"

Leon shifted, glancing out into the narrow cobbled streets. The masquerade took place over the entire city. There was no "one spot". "How's the range?"

"Twenty miles give or take." Joel moved to his computer and started typing. "Wherever you go, we can hear you."

"Got it."

The bathroom door opened and Rebecca stepped out, drying her hands on a towel. She paused, blinked, blinked, and stared. Jill smiled sweetly, "I look that good?"

Rebecca laughed, grinning, "You do indeed. I'm jealous."

Jill winked at her as she passed. "Rebecca, you endless flirt, I already like you. You don't have to butter me up."

Rebecca shifted as Jill and Chris headed out into the hallway. She watched the man who moved toward her. She wondered if she would ever get tired of watching him move. The outfit…it made the man. That was for damn sure.

"This look suits you."

"Oh yeah?" He smiled down at her. She ran her hand over his lapel.

"Oh yeah it does. Try not to do too much playing around out there."

He looped his arm around her to drag her against him. Her nose bumped the cold metal mask as he ducked his head. "Jealous?"

She met his looked squarely, "You're fucking right I am. I'd be an idiot not to be."

Leon laughed, delighted, and kissed her. Her cheeks were pink from rushing blood when he pulled back. "Don't be. I'm acting out there. And then I'm coming back here to you."

Rebecca traced his mouth with her fingers. "Sounds good to me."

He nipped her fingers, sending bolts of want right into her groin. "When I get back, you'll be the one coming."

"Oh dear god, promise?"fli

"Promise." He dropped a kiss to her shoulder and let her go. She shivered, deliciously.

Out on the street, the masquerade swirled up and surrounded them. She watched him until he disappeared into the crowd. Chris stepped up next to her, grinning.

"What do you say, Chambers?"

She looked up at his grinning face, "Can I keep him?"

Chris laughed.

He danced, he schmoozed. He kept a drink in his hand like any good James Bond. He flirted and tempted and danced the edge of playing the game too well. He listened, he learned, he stored information and filed it away in the right places. He kissed a few necks and played a few games when the mood called for it, getting a little more information with a little more teasing.

A tall figure in red came out of the smoke of the crowd and not even the mask couldn't hide who it was. He watched her move, cat like and wicked. She took his hand, wordlessly, and guided him toward a building.

He said nothing even as she tugged him inside. The internal part of the building was beautiful. Everything was hand carved and brilliantly maintained. It was marble and white and shiny, it was elegant even as it was clearly lavishly designed. They were looking down from a balcony into an inner sanctum, that much was clear. Inside the circle, on a mural of angels and demons in the throws sexual release, an orgy had begun.

Bodies and limbs, hands and lips, the sounds of want and wanton greed filled the air. Sweaty and succulent flesh melded and slipped together, offering the viewer a beautiful and decadent buffet of sexual delight. It was hard to tell where one body ended and another began.

She slipped up beside him and her hand slid across the zipper of his pants. He opened his mouth to protest and realized they were being watched, eyes, eyes, eyes everywhere. Her finger brushed against his lips, silencing him. She had him, just like that, in her game with him. Those red, red, red nails slipped over the length of him that pressed against his pants and taunted him, even as it promised more.

He curled his hands around the railing, staring hard at the bounty of sexual feasting that was occurring below them. He was spitted, trapped, held in place by his own lack of escape. He couldn't pull away, couldn't make a scene. He was, after all, here to play the game. The game. The game was this, sex and want and forbidden pleasure.

So long as no one spoke, no one on the head set could possibly know what was happening. She had to know that, had to. Because she worked his body like a whore even while her face showed nothing, offered nothing, but a tiny sly smile.

Game or not, he was a man. And that hand knew how to bring him pleasure. He dug his nails so hard into the railing, he was surprised it didn't crack and break beneath the force of it. The bitch in red. What was her end game here?

She slid her entire body behind him now, pressed against his back like a cat in heat, her hot, haunting little hands continued to stroke him. He ground his teeth, feeling the burgeoning betrayal of his erection offering her anything she wanted. His breath became labored, a little desperate.

His head dropped back with it and she turned her face and licked his earlobe, drew the delicate flesh between her teeth and nibbled. Her free hand slid up his chest over the expensive suit and pulled him tighter back against her. She pressed herself against his ass, rubbing against him.

As a secondary thing, trapped on the talons of his own torture, he knew people were talking close by. He knew they were saying important things that the other end of the communicator in his ear was hearing. This is why she'd brought him here, for intel, yes…and this. Because he'd run from her once, this was her revenge. He couldn't run now, not without alerting people to his purpose, not without alerting his team to what she was doing. The clever bitch: she had him right where she wanted him.

The sounds of sex and slapping skin floated up to them. Someone in the orgy was moaning, someone was gasping, someone was coming – fiercely by the sound of their screaming. His body hurt, physically hurt, from holding back his own release.

But he'd be damned if he'd give that to her too.

Someone close by was talking now about Gomez. It was all in Italian but he was fluent in a multitude of languages. He heard the name, it registered, it clicked, and he started to turn to hear more. She spun him around and he bumped against the railing on the balcony. He started to speak and she shook her head, gesturing.

The conversation was less than three feet away. Any distraction could ruin it. She smirked, slyly, and pressed herself against him. Her hands slipped under his suit jacket, curled around his back and she rubbed herself against him – a living, breathing, live wire of temptation. The need to touch her was very real and very painful. What was it that stopped him? What was the harm in just a little touch? It was like a good drink, a stiff drink, what was the harm in just one?

Had he ever stopped at one drink?

She skimmed her hands over his hips and rubbed her paws at his aching body again. His Helen of Troy. Didn't she realize that the city had already burned? The only thing left here was the ashes. Her hands sank into his ass and brought his breath in a hiss.

Well, the ashes and an erection. But he got an erection when a stiff wind blew sometimes. He'd been dealing with erections that bothered the hell out of him for more than a third of his life. She was rubbing up the wrong tree if she thought a lap dance would bring him back to her.

She made a grab again at his zipper and he caught her wrists, squeezed. He shook his head. The look on her face said she liked this game he was playing. She probably thought he was being the ultimate tease, taunting and giggling like some school girl who was making a guy crawl before she gave it up. But he wasn't playing.

The panic in his belly was very real. His intentions were good, had always been good. But he'd never been able to say no to "just one drink".

She kissed him now, smooth and wet. He flashed on her face, on twenty years of her face, of the chase, of the climb. She'd given him her body, finally, in that fire bright room that day. But her heart? He'd never have it, never feel it, never know it. Because the dark had no heart, no laughter, no promise. She was beautiful and tempting…and empty.

Without something more, this would never be enough to hold him.

Ada drew back enough to look into his face. And there was something on hers that called him a liar. No, not empty after all. But he didn't think what was in her would ever be something that he could hold. She was fire and pain. She was cold and calculation. She was, and would always be, smarter than him. She knew how to play him, how to tempt him, she'd given him her body that day…and offered him so much more to keep him. But she lied.

She had no more to give him.

She rolled her groin against his, smiling coyly. And he was still a man. He was still human. She was beautiful and his body wanted him to be very aware that it liked this little lap dance she was doing just fine.

He curled his hands around the steel rods of the balcony, looking for strength. He knew, she knew, it was like rape in a way. He could say no, he could stop it. He could stop her any time he wanted. But at what cost? This might be the only chance they had to get intel on Gomez. That was what he was here for, the mission.

She made another move to unzip him and he grabbed her hands, shaking his head. She shoved him back against the railing now, hard enough it brought a grunt of pain from him. The game was about to take an entirely different edge. He had a handful of seconds to decide if wanted people to start staring.

Joel's voice sounded in his ear, "That's great! Wherever you are, Leon, stay right there. They are talking about where she's hiding. In a few minutes, we'll know exactly where she is!"

He grabbed Ada and drug her to a far wall. He all but threw her up against it. He pinned her hands to the wall beside her hips and put his face against the curve of her shoulder and neck. He settled himself against her and she parted her legs, looping one around his calf to draw him tighter to her.

"Everything going good there, Leon? You're ok?"

She licked his ear, nibbling. He closed his eyes and breathed, very, very slowly, "I'm good here. I'm good."

"Awesome! Just hang tight for a few more minutes and you'll be good to go."

Her mouth slid along his cheek. At his mouth, she licked his lips. He drew his head back enough to hold her with his gaze. She tilted her head, studying him. And the manipulations, the games, he could see beneath all of it to the mastermind beneath. A very, very slow smile bloomed on her face.

This one was like a fox; teeth and hunger.

He shook his head at her, just once.

She rubbed her groin against him and the hungry little smile made them both very aware that she knew and he knew that his body liked her. Hell, his body had liked her for over twenty years. His body liked Baywatch too. It liked cashmere and cool water and his hand. His body liked anything that felt good.

The look on his face was murderous. The rage beat like angry butterfly wings between them. She smiled, slow and sly. She pressed her mouth to his and winked.

"Leon!" The voice in his ear was excited, "Hey! Something screwed the last few minutes of recording. I didn't get the address. Are they still talking?"

They weren't. They'd moved away and were lost in the crowd.

"No. They aren't. What do you mean something interfered?"

"The transmission went static. I didn't get the address."

Ada lifted a tiny lipstick with a blinking tip. A homemade jammer, she'd interrupted the signal. The rage increased ten fold. She'd just double fucked him in a single move. She stepped back from him, smiling sweetly.

Strapped to her inner thigh, in that red dress slit so high up it might as well have been a rag, a tape recorder proved his worst fear: she had the intel. He took a step toward her and she spun away. She lifted a finger and pointed.

He turned and saw what she was gesturing at, the staircase. When he turned back, she was gone. He clenched his fist in muted rage.

"I may know how to get the intel. I should go coms silent though. I have a lot of eyes on me here. I don't know how safe transmissions are."

"Roger." Joel's voice echoed back, "Radio silence for how long?"

He watched Ada disappear up the stairs, "Twenty minutes. I don't think it should take me longer than that. Get Chris ready once we had an address. Where's Rebecca?"

"She's here, working on a potential tranquilizer for Gomez."

He knew where this could lead. Only a fool couldn't see it. He hesitated and said, "Put her on for me real quick, Joel."

Her voice came over the ear piece, "Leon? Everything ok?"

He wasted no time with semantics. "It's Ada. She's here. She has the intel we need. She's playing games with me. She wants something. I'm afraid if I don't play, she's going to expose me and possibly Jill. But I made you a promise, a big one. So, you tell me what to do."

Rebecca was so quiet. His heart hurt.

"Rebecca?"

"Do what you need to do. Get the intel and let's finish this."

The masquerade, the endless swirl of faces and forces, the endless litany of mystery and intrigue. She was asking him to play a very dangerous game. He'd already lost this game once. If he lost it again, he knew and she had to know, she had to know, that it would mean he'd lose her too.

"Rebecca…it's never simple with her. She'll want…things…"

She was very quiet on the other end of the com. He waited, wondering if she knew what was at stake here. She was telling him to go back, go back to the darkness, and play the game. It was a dangerous gamble for both of them.

"What do you need?" Her voice was so very quiet. He turned and linked his hands over the railing of the balcony. Down below, bodies churned and touched, blended and melded and made noises of release and greed. He gripped the banister, driving all of his demons down into his hands to hold himself there.

What did he need?

The question had had no answer a month before. He'd stood on his porch and considered embracing the emptiness inside of him and craved what that numbness would offer. He'd wanted nothing more than but to give up, give in, and drown in the darkness. She'd ripped him back from the edge screaming.

And for the first time in his life, he was trapped in a quagmire of his own indecision. What did he want? He wanted to remember why he fought, what he fought for, what he-no. She hadn't asked him what he wanted. She'd asked him what he NEEDED.

And so he had the answer. She'd given him the answer. She'd given him hope. And with that, came the only answer there was.

His voice came, quietly, harsh and deep, "Faith."

If he'd told her love, if he'd confessed undying love and devotion to her, Rebecca didn't think she'd have been any more touched. Faith, he'd said. Faith. It was what he needed most in the whole of the world. Did he think she'd deny him that?

"I have faith in you. Always."

She waited, listening to the sounds of the world around him. No one else, none of them, could know what it was costing him to stand there and play the game he was playing. But she did. She knew. And she bled for him.

"What if I can't do it?"

On the other end of the communicator, Rebecca could hear the distress in his voice, the torture. She felt something pulse inside of her, some level of sympathy she hadn't known was there. She knew, had always known, that what he felt ran deep. She'd known, had always known, that the woman up those stairs had her hooks in him so deep, so far, that he was barely hanging on.

Did he know, could he know, how far he'd come that he'd turned first to her, first to the strength she offered him? How could he understand that there was so much more to him then Ada Wong?

"Leon, close your eyes."

"Ok."

"Lift you hand…slide it under your tie against your chest.."

He did it, breathing slowly and deeply.

"What do you feel there?"

Beneath the silky shirt, beneath the mask, beneath the game…he felt it; the cool metal of the cross she'd given him. He rubbed it into his skin, hard enough to bruise. And the weight of it, the faith of it, gave him back the ability to breathe again.

He put his finger to the com in his ear as if that one touch alone would bring them together. On the other end, Rebecca did the same.

And he said, softly, "Thank you."

"Finish it. Get what you came for. You know how to beat her. You've always known. You just have to have the strength to play the game and finish it. I told you, and I meant it, I have faith in you. Turn the comms off, go up those stairs and finish it."

"No.." His voice was smooth and forceful, "I want you to listen. If you listen…maybe you'll understand it. Maybe you'll know."

She was quiet for a long moment as well. And finally, she spoke, "I think you're right. But I want you to turn the camera on."

"Are you sure? What I do here, what I'm doing, this is the job. This is it. It's playacting, and sometimes it's pretty intense. This isn't a rooftop battle with a monster, Rebecca. This is the other side of what I do. It's riskier, uglier, more than fighting and bullets and blood. With Ada…with Ada it could get dangerous. I don't want you to see it, feel it, and hurt. I need to know how far you want me to go here. I need to know where to draw the line."

"Yeah. I'm sure. I know what you do to me…now show me what I do to you. What's it worth to get rid of her? Only you can answer that. Will you do whatever it takes to be free of her?"

He pressed his finger to the com in his ear as if, by pressing, he could touch her too. And he gave her that word, that word that meant everything and nothing between them.

"Yes."

She was quiet for a long moment before she finally gave him an answer, "Don't fuck her."

He couldn't help it, he smiled a little bit. The abruptness of it surprised him, "I hadn't planned on it. But she's going to want something. I don't think you should watch it."

"I have to. How else can I know? Show me. Help me understand her hold on you. Maybe…maybe then we can figure out how to break it. And then you come back here and let me find a way to tear her out of you forever."

He breathed, ached a little for both of them, and whispered, "Deal."

He hurried toward the stairs. He left the coms on. He passed by faces in masks, smiling and sensual. A woman in a shimmering purple dress tried to waylay him by pressing herself against him.

Forced to play the game and maintain cover, he pressed her back against the wall of the stairs and kissed on her neck for a few moments. It was called "sampling" it was what one did in these type of parties. You sampled to decide if you were interested in tasting.

He stepped back from her when the polite amount of time had passed and sort of pushed her into another man as discreetly as possible. They didn't seem to mind and turned happily to each other. He hurried up the stairs to the top floor. He saw her red dress disappear into a room at the end of the hallway.

Leon slipped into the room after her. He started to say something and realized she wasn't alone. Two men were sampling her. She stood between them, watching him.

One used his mouth to play at her breasts where they were so perfectly framed by the V of her shimmering dress. The other was licking at her spine in the open back of it. He moved forward, done with the game, ready to chuck the other man out on their asses and shake the answers out of her.

She shook her head and hooked her hand around his tie, wrapping it around her fist to bring him toward her. The other two men stepped back, watching. Damn these people, he cursed internally, always happy to watch a show. Her face taunted him, daring him to make a scene.

He slipped his hand up her thigh and the recorder was gone.

Surprised, he met her eyes. She smiled, coyly.

He eyed the other men, debating on blowing the whole thing to get answers. He didn't want to endanger Jill wherever she was in the party. He couldn't bring himself to risk it. Instead, he asked quietly, "What do you want?"

Ada pulled him to her by his tie, and put her mouth to his to answer him, "Satisfaction. Give me that, I give you what you need. Fair trade."

He met her eyes, held them, "It won't be enough, Ada. Whatever this is, it will never be enough. When we're done here, it's done forever."

There was a gasp in his ear from the woman on the other end. But he meant it. Whatever it took, he had to be done. It was time to stop hiding in the darkness.

Ada jerked his tie, bringing a sound from his throat. "You'll regret it."

"No," He shook his head, "I'll regret it if I don't."

She smiled at him now and licked his mouth, "Then I better make this count. Play the game, get what you want. And I'll let you go."

"Swear it."

"I swear." She licked his mouth again, "Open your mouth."

In his ear, that soft voice whispered, "Turn the camera to her. Let me see."

He froze, feeling the thunder of that instruction in his blood.

She must have felt his hesitance, as her voice came again, "I have to see it. I have to know. This is how we close the door, Leon. You wanted me to understand it. To do that, I have to see it."

Leon opened his mouth. He had no choice. Not really. He needed that intel, he needed free of her. He needed to try to start over, start fresh, and get out of the darkness that she brought with her. He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do to be free of that.

He opened his mouth.

Her tongue slipped inside, her hand slid up his face to angle him to her. "Kiss me back."

He hesitated for a moment, glanced at the two men watching, and ducked his head down to her. She made a sound of need, curled her tongue with his and tried to devour the soul that was beyond it. Where would he draw the line, he wondered, even as desperately wanted to break free of her, where would he draw the line?

How did he get out of this without someone dying? If he did this, if he played this game the way Ada wanted, it meant killing the woman waiting for him in that hotel room a few miles away. If he did this, Ada would win; she'd own him. He'd lose Rebecca, lose himself, and follow her like a puppet into the darkness.

He'd told Rebecca he wouldn't hurt her again. He'd meant it.

She lifted his hand and slipped it into the open front of her dress. Her breast was smooth, warm, and the nipple hard and begging beneath his palm. He didn't move, but he didn't pull away either. Where would he draw the line?

She slid away from him and moved toward the bed in the center of the room. It was draped in black, canopied, and surrounded by gauzy curtains. She lay back upon it and crooked her finger at him.

At the other end of the camera, watching on the computer before her, Rebecca felt something catch at the back of her throat. She was beautiful, breathtaking. She was sin and sex and wanton desire. She was his darkness. And his darkness was perfect.

Where did she think she could really fit in all that darkness? Did she have any hope of keeping him, really keeping him, when this is what tempted him?

She opened her mouth to tell him to stop. To just stop. She couldn't watch this. She wasn't strong enough. She would break. It would break her.

A hand settled on her shoulder and gripped. She glanced up. Chris stood there, looking down at her. There was some kind of soft strength on his face. "It's a mission, Rebecca. You know that. But if you tell him, he'll stop. He'll come back. You have to decide what you're willing to risk to find the answers."

She lifted her hand and gripped his, squeezing. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah," Chris glanced at the screen and the woman there, watching the man Rebecca loved with eager, haunting eyes, "She's beautiful. And deadly. You have to decide how much you trust him. And how much you want to know what she knows."

"I want to kill her."

Chris met her eyes, held them, "So did I once…You may get your chance. But you have to decide, right in this moment, what you want from him. You're running out of time."

She whispered, eyes on that screen. "I don't know what to do."

Chris glanced down at her, held her gaze, "I think you do."

Leon clenched his fist and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He watched the woman on the bed and wondered, how many times, how many ways he'd always pictured her just like that. How many nights he'd lain awake sweating and wanting her. How many times he'd cursed her name in the twisted mess of his own stunted need.

And now here she was, offering him everything he'd wanted. She was offering him damnation and the dark. He felt the roar of his blood that knew only that thick, twisted, throbbing temptation. "The choice is yours, Leon. But let's not pretend. We both know what moves you, what drives you. Do you think she can save you? The little girl with her big blue eyes that look at you with love and hope. Do you cuddle between her thighs and pray that she'll save you? Tell me, did you want to save those women?" She tilted her head, watching him, "Or did she?"

The long silence was her answer.

She laughed and it was musical, "That's what I thought. You sold your soul a long time ago, Leon. We both know it. There's nothing left in you to save. What's left in there, struggling, twisting with regret and seeking redemption? That's the death throws. You're fighting to hold on because you don't know how to give up. It's part of who you are."

She crooked her finger again, taunting him. "Give up. Let go. The good guys don't always win. The day isn't always saved. And the bad guys? They get the girl every time. Forget being the good guy, Leon…and come get the girl."

Leon moved toward the bed. He parted the curtains and crawled across the satin bedspread.

Satisfaction, she'd said. She hadn't said sex. She'd said satisfaction. Where would he draw the line?

He gestured with his head. The other men seemed to know what he wanted. Some kind of unspoken guy code. They emerged, eager.

"Hold her down."

Ada's eyes flashed surprise.

Each man took one of her delicate arms, stretching it above her head. Leon slid his hands up her body, gliding them up the outside of her thighs and he passed a hand smoothly over her groin, bringing her breath in a gasp.

He felt the shift in his groin, felt the erection that pushed there at the sight of her. Promise or not, he was a man. And she was, would always be, the dark that tempted him. But her last little speech hadn't tempted him closer to her, it had reminded him why she'd lose. It had reminded him why he fought: because you only lost when you had nothing worth fighting for.

He slid his hands over the inside of her thighs. She gasped, shivering, the men above her made sounds of pleasure and brushed themselves against her outstretched hands. He whispered, "You said satisfaction."

She whispered back, quietly, "I did."

He shifted down her body and nodded. The men holding her arms each used their free hands to start playing with those breasts. She made a sound of surprise and delight. The scent of her excitement grew.

Leon passed his hands over her stomach, down her hips. She trembled, eyeing him like a cat with a mouse. She hadn't yet figured out she was the mouse this time.

He lowered his mouth and blew a single, tantalizing breath against those little red panties and over the trembling heat of her body. His hands slid up her thighs and his thumbs hooked at the juncture where it met her smooth, soft pelvis. He licked a little wet line over her lower belly, teasing her. His dick throbbed, pulsing with the need to plunge into her body and spill. It promised him wonderful things if he just gave in, gave up, and hammered her into the bed.

Come on, it urged, go get that girl.

It lied.

And it wasted its time.

He'd been ignoring his dick for years before Rebecca had come along and awakened him. It was nice to know he still could if he really wanted to. He blew another breath across her body. The men above her were relentlessly toying with those breasts, bringing her breath in harsh pants.

She gasped below him, panting, "Please!"

He rolled to the side, raking his nails over one thigh as he went. She moaned, bowing a little. He knew she liked a little blood and a little pain. He closed his eyes, breathing. His hand shifted to rub at the cross beneath his shirt.

He gestured with his head and one of the men shifted. The other released her arm as well. Leon jerked her up and slid under her. Satisfaction, she'd said. He'd give her that. On all fours, she looked down at him. The greed on her face nearly robbed his will power and left him empty.

He shook his head and one of the man moved in behind her. She must have known what was about to happen because she said, "Wait…this wasn't the deal."

"You said satisfaction. Play the game, Ada. You'll get satisfaction."

Something on her face shifted, held. "Fair enough." Her hands jerked at his zipper. "I'll play. But you'll play too."

He made some sound of denial mixed with a shuddering breath. Was this the price? His hands grabbed hers, held them. He shook his head at her, slid them up his chest instead.

She gripped the front of his shirt, dragging him up toward her. "I want to fuck you."

She rubbed her mouth hard against his and he whispered against her, "That wasn't the deal. This was." He slid her little red panties to the side on her body, offering her.

The man behind her grabbed her hips and yanked her back on his willing dick. She gasped, grunted with the force of it, and did the same to Leon. She shoved her tongue into his mouth. He laid his hands flat on the mattress, twisting the bedspread in his fingers.

The man behind her was fucking her now, hard and deep. The wet slaps of his body filled the room around them. He stared up at the canopy above the bed, trying to find something to give him strength in the utter blackness that trembled there. Ada drove her mouth down on his mercilessly, fast and desperate. She grabbed his face to fill his mouth with the taste of her kiss. Her lip gloss tasted of cherries and sex.

He grunted, gasped, and let her use his mouth. A small sacrifice really. A terribly small sacrifice.

He didn't fuck her.

He didn't even touch her.

But he let her mouth fuck his.

He closed his eyes, channeling his resolve like a desperate, drowning man. His blood rushed into his groin, turning it into a heavy, helpless, throbbing thing. He opened his mouth for her as she demanded it, taking her tongue into him. Her hand slid down his body and grabbed at him through his pants. He grunted and shook his head, pulling her hand free again.

She made some kind of an angry sound and the man behind her drove her over the edge. She gasped, bowed, and grabbed his face. She pulled him up toward her, biting at his lips as she came –bucking against the man behind her.

Leon closed his eyes, breathing.

A long moment passed and her mouth pressed down on his again, soft this time. He opened his eyes and met hers. There was a sly little smile on her mouth. He felt his answer it.

"Clever boy," She slid off of him and tossed the recorder onto the bed with the memory stick, "A bitch I might be, but I'm not a liar."

He sat up, watching her. "The game ends here, Ada."

She tossed a smile over her shoulder at him. "Maybe it does. But understand me, Leon, if I cant have you –then you're just another thing that's in my way. Be sure when you make your choice here tonight. I promise you, if you do this…you'll regret it."

Something about that statement sounded more ominous then it should have. He'd never had her for an enemy. She was clever, manipulative, and unscrupulous when it suited her.

"Don't threaten me, Ada."

"Not a threat, a promise. Think about it. I make a much better lover then an enemy."

He held that long look. "Ditto."

She smiled at him, "So we understand each other. And maybe our game begins to change. Enjoy the party, Leon. I hear there'll be fireworks later."

She disappeared into the cluster of bodies outside of the door.

He let out of the breath he'd been holding, falling back onto the bed. He puts his hands over his face and took three sharp, painful breaths. There was something in this moment that felt like victory, something that felt like he'd won a battle he didn't even know he'd been fighting.

He rolled to the edge of the mattress and rose, shivering a little at his own torment.

He left the room, stepping through bodies that swirled and glittered and tempted. He felt like a man who'd been denying himself a drink for far too long. This is what addiction felt like when you finally decided to break the cycle. This was rock bottom. He'd chosen to start getting sober.

And it fucking hurt.

His dick was telling him what a fucking idiot he was. It throbbed, angry, and horny, and raw. Leon side stepped a woman who tried to put her hands on him.

He'd said no to Ada. He'd said no. He wasn't sure how much no he had left in him. He had to get away.

The woman called to him, laughing, "Don't you want to play?"

He did. He wanted…and it was killing.

The masquerade went on, a blur of faces and pretty colors and sounds. People danced, they partied, they fucked and filled their night with mystery and madness and fantasy. He moved through the streets in his expensive suit, a man who'd once sat alone in the darkness of a bar and thought about putting a bottle to his head and pulling the trigger.

His hands found the buttons of the suit and jerked. It opened and he spilled it fast to the ground. He took a step, a faster one, a faster one still. And he was running.

He ran like the wind, like the hounds of hell were on his heels chasing him into the night. He ran like if he stopped, if he felt it, he would die from it. The pain stole his breath, stole his purpose, it replaced his blood with acid that burned away what was beneath it. His veins throbbed from it, offering nothing but madness and regret.

Leon ran until he reached the long pier that stretched out into the water of the island. And when the pier ran out, he dove off. The water closed her cold and unforgiving grip around him, offering a kind of peace he couldn't find on land. He sank, sank, sank and floated there swirled in the blackness of her lurid embrace.

He wasn't sure how long he floated there. Minutes, hours, days. He surfaced when the air in his lungs was finally too much and he'd die if he didn't. His head whipped out of the water, throwing it in a cold, wet arc behind him.

He swam to the edge of the pier and reached up to lever himself out.

The hand that appeared offered him the help to get out.

He grabbed it and climbed out of the cold, cold water.

Fireworks started, flashing the night sky with color and light. She looked up at him, soaked, breathing so heavily. She grabbed his tie and held it.

"The communicator just stopped. It just stopped."

He panted, staring into her elfin face. "I forgot to take it off."

"I saw everything."

They were standing so close to each other that the line of their bodies almost, but not quite, touched. Her thumb stroked the soaked tie and he shivered from the cool night air against his wet body.

His voice came now, soft, nearly desperate, "That nearly killed me."

"Me too." She scanned his face with her eyes, "You won. Tell me you don't know that. You won."

His beautiful wet hair straggled into his eyes, dripping down his face. "It hurt."

She pulled his tie, bringing him down to her a little more. "I think it had to."

"She's not done, Rebecca. She can't be. She doesn't know how to lose."

Rebecca pressed a kiss to his chin, soothing them both. "Maybe not…but for tonight she is. Don't let her take anything else from you."

"I can't go back into that party. I won't make it."

She studied him, searching, and her heart…her heart craved him. Her hands…they settled on his chest and rubbed. "Tell me what you need."

He breathed, deep and hard, and shoved a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I need a shock to the system!" He turned, gave her his back and studied the horizon. "I need somebody to just jolt me out of myself! I feel like I've been grabbing two pieces of an electrical conduit and trying to put them back together. Only the current just keeps passing right through me instead. I need somebody to just reboot me!"

"Are you sure?"

He started to turn toward her, adamant now about it. "Yeah I'm s—"

She shoved him. There was no other word for it. She literally tackled him.

She was so small, tiny really, but he'd taught her how to fight an opponent bigger then her. He'd taught her all about the element of surprise and using the terrain to her advantage. He could do nothing but let the shock hit him as she hit him full speed.

He went backward off the pier still reeling with it.

They hit the cold water together and sank under.

He grabbed her without thinking, pulling her up with him. She came out of the water laughing. He was…slightly less amused.

"What the fuck man!"

She grabbed his face and wrapped her legs around his waist. He bobbled her but held on to her. "Did it work?"

She looked like a drowned fairy. She was grinning from ear to ear.

He hooked her under his arm while she giggled and swam with her to the farther part of the shore. They climbed out of the water and she kept right on laughing.

Leon dumped her on the beach and the sand fluffed up around her in a cloud, making her cough and sneeze. "You probably deserved that."

Unapologetic, she chuckled. "Maybe. But did it work?"

He looked down at her lying there on her back. The fireworks reflected across her face. Her smile was guileless and simple.

"It's working."

He offered her a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. "Things could go very wrong, very quickly here, Rebecca. You don't tell Ada no lightly."

Rebecca sighed, "Fuck Ada Wong."

He blinked.

She blinked.

"That came out wrong."

And he laughed, delighted. He dragged her against him, pressing their cold wet clothes together. "Rebecca…what are you doing to me?"

She grinned and slid her arms around his waist to hold him. "I'm shocking your system."

He breathed and relented, he dropped his forehead to the top of her head and held her. The fireworks exploded and drew their attention. They turned together, watching the brilliant flashes of light and listening to the delighted cries and gasps of the people enjoying the show.

Now or never, she thought, and slipped her hand down.

She didn't go for his pants. No. She wasn't Ada Wong. She went for something so much more important than that. She went for something that meant so much more.

She grabbed his hand.

She pretended to watch the fireworks but watched him from the corner of her eye. He turned his palm against her and their fingers slid together, twining…and Leon Kennedy held her hand. She felt the tears prick her eyes and angled her chin more to the sky to hope he didn't see them. Maybe he'd think they were water from the ocean.

After a long moment, the fireworks tapered off, and the sounds of the city returned to fill the silence left behind. She turned toward him and he was watching her. There was something on his face, something so very soft and so very real.

He glanced down at their hands with surprise. His eyes lifted and mets hers. He tugged her against him using their linked fingers. He settled their hands against his chest. She could feel the thunder of her heart in her chest now. Whatever he said now, this was it. This moment…something was about to change between them.

"Rebecca… I—"

"HEY!"

From the street above the beach, Joel was waving his arms. "I GOT IT! I GOT THE LOCATION! Chris and Jill are enroute! Hurry! We don't know how good the intel is or how long it will last!"

Rebecca had never wanted to punch Joel in the face before. But here, in this moment, she wanted to punch him and shake him like a rag doll and smack the shit out of him. She tried to retrieve the moment, opened her mouth, and Leon pulled away.

"We're coming!"

Her fists clenched at her sides. The big all terrain vehicle whipped to a stop at the curb. Jill leaned out the back door, dressed for combat this time. "Come on, love birds! You can make googoo eyes at each other later. We've got a limited amount of time here to finish this thing."

Leon was shedding the suit as he moved, hiking up the beach toward the metal beast that had killed their moment. Rebecca muttered angrily, following.

Leon slipped inside the vehicle. Jill waved her arm, "Come on, Chambers! Move that ass! You're slower than an episode of Orange is the New Black."

From the driver's seat, Chris yelled, "Hey hey HEY! What did I tell you? Do NOT talk bad about that show."

Jill pursed her lips and made a kissy sound. "You just wish you were inside a woman's prison with them."

"…this is probably true. BUT STILL! No jokes!"

"Whatever, you big baby!"

Rebecca climbed into the vehicle. Leon was strapping himself into his vest. She hadn't even gotten to see him naked while he changed.

Pouting, she settled back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

So, he'd made the first real push to free himself from his demon. So, he'd made the first real push toward something real there with her on the beach. So, he'd fought his own temptation and won…so what?

He couldn't have told her loved her? Would that have been so hard to do?

His hand touched her knee and stayed there, a solid contact. He, Jill, and Chris were going over strategy while they drove. The contact was thoughtless for him, instinctual. It was unprompted and simply a reflection of his feelings for her.

It meant more than anything he'd done before that.

It meant what that hand holding on the beach had meant: he was opening up to her. He was letting her in. The fight for both of them was finally pushing them toward the same end.

The bitterness slid away from her on the wave of that promise. Somewhere in the city, Ada Wong had been banished back to her nest to plot her revenge. Somewhere in the city, Gomez was waiting for them to thwart her and save the day.

But here in this vehicle, the greatest victory had been won. Because the girl who'd come across the man riddled with darkness had finally broken through his armor to find his light. She tested the moment, curling her hand around his biceps to hold his arm against her…and he settled back in the seat with her…and kept his hand on her knee.

If he'd have grabbed a boom box and stood outside her window declaring his love for her, it couldn't have possibly meant more.


	7. VII: The Dark Phoenix

+Author's note:

The journey to redemption leads down a darker path. The ability to clone the most horrible of villains looms with a vengeance over everything. With a woman betrayed, a great threat emerges. Somewhere between the truth, the dark, and the final battle – Rebecca finds her chance to stand alone, a hero faces a tragic end, and Leon Kennedy faces what could be the most crippling thing that has ever been done to him.

Close to his salvation, he'll have to push harder and faster than he's ever done. Stripped of his strength, lost in the dark, what will guide him back?

But, of course, Rebecca would have an answer for him: Faith.

It will take all he has to rise the hero once again.

Slainte.

….

VII. The Dark Phoenix: And How a Hero Rises

AURIBUS TENEO LUBUM

"It is the dim haze of mystery that adds enchantment to pursuit." – Antoine Rivarol

:::::::::::::::::::::::::SEVEN::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Vito De Mare, Italy 2017

The clock tower loomed over the town with an ominous force. It offered a glowing face to a darkened sky. Beneath its hulking presence, the patrons of the small island were engaged in their games. They danced and swirled, in cloaks and dresses, in masks and disguises. How were they to know Gomez if they saw her?

Everyone they met was in character.

The base of the clock tower showed open doors tooled in gold and silver etched marble. The doors themselves invited the view into the depths of the wonders within. Inside, a gala was happening. Orchestra music offered the listener the backdrop of a festive affair built on the back of a fantasy.

Chris exited the vehicle and stepped up next to the others, watching the bodies dance and swirl in couture gowns, feathers, sequins and pomp. There were jesters and jongleurs, courtesans, princesses and handsome Don Juans. They were going to stand out like sore thumbs here.

"You think we'll find the rest of the Phantom of the Opera in there?"

Jill, wearing her signature ball cap with the long gold of her ponytail poking out back, shifted in her boots. "Chris Redfield, how do you know about Phantom of the Opera?"

He faked looking offended, "I watch more than just Orange is the New Black."

Jill chuckled again, "Yeah Pawn Stars. And Justified."

"I do love shows about people selling useless shit. And a good Kentucky redneck shootout. Raylan Givens is my hero."

Rebecca, still in her wet clothing, stepped up beside them. "I know how to find her."

Leon glanced down at her, surprised, "How?"

Twenty minutes later, she came out of the local costume shop ready to go. Her dress was white, shimmering, and made of sparkly crinoline. It had a heart shaped tailored bodice beaded with hundreds and hundreds of Swarovski crystals in different shades of diamond, emerald, and ruby. The waist was cinched around her so tightly it gave her the perfect hourglass shape. The bodice forced her little breasts into an obscene amount of cleavage. She wore a little antique choker in blackened metal with a ruby the size of a thumb. Her short cap of hair was teased and curled around the gold coxeer venetian mask she wore.

She came down the steps of the shop while Joel stared at her. Jill whistled, "Look at you. I wouldn't have known it was you if I didn't see your eyes."

Leon had his head tilted, studying her. He circled his finger and she turned in a circle, smiling.

"This looks work for me."

She laughed and he leaned down to kiss her. She shook her head and put a hand to his chest to stop him. "Nope. You'll smear my lipstick."

"I feel vaguely offended."

Rebecca chuckled while Joel fitted her with a GPS tracker and a com in the choker.

"I'll find her. When I do, come find me."

She started toward the party. Jill called after her and jogged over. They spoke softly to each other and Rebecca nodded. Jill knelt and reached under her dress.

Chris and Leon watched closely, maybe a little too closely. Chris said, "Now this is a show."

"I think I've seen this show."

Chris snickered. "I think I watch this show more then I should."

"Ditto."

Jill nodded and rose. They spoke again and Rebecca turned to move toward the party. Chris lifted a brow at her as she jogged back to them. "What? I put a thigh holster on her with a knife. I'm not letting her go in there unarmed."

"It'll take her twenty minutes to get under all that itchy crap to even reach it."

Leon nodded in agreement.

"So? Better something than nothing." Jill watched her go, wondering how the little lab mouse was going to be able to play the game.

Rebecca was spun from one set of dancing arms to another. She was waltzed and charmed, romanced and flirted with. One audacious couple offered to have a three way with her. Flattered, she declined politely, and found herself with a flute of champagne in her hand.

She glanced up at the tall man who stood beside her. His face was hidden by a phantom mask except for his perfect little van dyke beard. She put the sparklingly, bubbly sweet drink to her lips. He spoke and his Italian accent was charming, "My mistress would like the honor of your company."

"Your mistress?"

He gestured to the upper level of the clock tower. She glanced up, up and saw Maria Gomez standing there. She wore a half mask of engraved silver and a dress of taffeta and lace in bold blue and red. She inclined her head, and her red eyes flashed excitedly.

Rebecca felt the tremble of fear on her tongue but answered, smoothly, "Alright."

"Follow me, la Vita è Bella."

She activated the tracker on her choker as they walked together. He followed her up the staircase that circled the length of the room. Gomez waited patiently for them.

When they were face to face, she cupped Rebecca's face and drew her up. She kissed her mouth, slow and lingering. Rebecca blinked, surprised.

"Glenn saw your face last, mi nina bonita." Her Spanish accent was so thick it was hard to understand her, "I will enjoy bringing you to me in his memory."

Rebecca smiled, sweetly, "I'm not alone."

"Aren't you, pequena paloma? I see no others with you."

"They'll be here soon."

The man behind her was too close. She gasped as he grabbed her arm and jerked her into step beside him. Gomez followed behind as he dragged Rebecca up the stairs.

"Then I would suggest we hurry."

The iron stair case curled up and up, seemingly endless. At the top of the stairs a room opened before them. The face of the clock was inverted here, showing its glowing light into a library. Books upon books lined the walls from floor to ceiling and a large red rug covered the marble floor.

The man shoved Rebecca inside the room and she stumbled, nearly falling.

She turned quickly and watched Gomez enter the room behind her. "I do not have Glenn's vision. But Dubois…she did. She was a genius. She knew how to bring the women to our side. She was…" The look on Maria Gomez's face said Dubois had been "more than a friend", "You took first my Diego. And now my, la amante'. I am going to watch you bleed while you die."

Rebecca opened her mouth to reply and a figure stepped into the doorway. He didn't need a mask. He didn't need a cloak or a cape or a disguise to be the most mysterious thing she'd seen at the party. He didn't need a thing to shock or amaze anyone .

Because he wore sunglasses at night.

And he should have been dead.

Rebecca grabbed for the dagger at her thigh and the world was spinning now. It was spinning and tilting, turning and sliding. Was it fear? No. No. It was drugs. The champagne had been drugged.

She stumbled and the figure across the room was too close now, too close. It grabbed her upper arms and lifted her off the floor until their faces were even.

She barely had time to whisper, soft and frightened, into the headset, "Captain Wesker…"

And Wesker answered, "Where's Chris?"

…

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2015

"Just tell me the price, Ms. Wong. I seldom like to play these games."

Glenn Arias leaned on the desk in the great room of the beautiful old castle. He was impeccably dressed in a pin striped navy suit and vest with Ferragamo leather loafers. A handsome man, he bore the mark of pain across his face that spoke of his personal tragedy in the form of a scar. The white cap of his hair made him seem stately, aristocratic, and added a layer of charisma to the polished product.

Ada Wong paced slowly in front of the fireplace. She wore her signature red, this time in the form of a beautiful black Prada suit with a flashy red camisole beneath. Twists of red crystal dangled artfully from her ears as she turned, studying him.

"For something like that, it's hard to know a price."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

"You realize that resurrecting Albert Wesker is not only foolish but could be catastrophic."

"Are you warning me from some vague sense of concern for the state of humanity?"

Ada laughed, lightly, "Hardly. But self-preservation does come to mind. Wesker and I didn't end on good terms."

"I'm sure I can keep him in line."

She tried to see if he was joking. "He was nearly a god when Redfield lucked into killing him. Using his DNA, cloning him…you're inviting a god into your temple, Mr. Arias. And Wesker doesn't play nice with others."

"That is my concern. I merely asked your price. I know you have what I need."

"Do you?"

"I have my sources."

"Your sources are confused. I don't have what you need."

He lifted a brow.

"But I could be persuaded to get it for you."

A smile bloomed across his face. Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rolled. "Name your price."

Ada answered that smile with one of her own. The fireplace crackled behind her and thunder rolled loud and ominous in the distance, "I'm a simple girl, Mr. Arias. I don't need money. I need power."

Glenn Arias snapped closed the Zippo lighter he'd been playing with absently. They held gazes, judging the weight of the other. And he knew, she knew, they would become unlikely allies. "When you get me what I need, I'll get you your power."

"In that case, I believe we have a deal, Mr. Arias."

….

Vito De Mare, Italy 2017

On the street below, the static on the com couldn't hide the horror in her voice.

They were already running before she finished speaking.

Chris grabbed the shirt of the closest agent as the ran back, shouting his command, "Get these people out of here! Radio for backup!"

Jill was three steps behind Leon as they burst into the clock tower and started fighting the dancing bodies to get to the stairs. The people cavorted, blocking their way, unaware of what awaited above them. Jill shoved, shifted, and finally shouted, "It's useless until we get them to clear out!"

Leon pulled the shotgun off his back, pumped a round into the chamber, and fired it into the air. The loud echoing boom of it started people running. As a method of crowd dispersal, it worked like a charm.

He hit the staircase at a full run, pounding up the metal steps with Jill and Chris right behind him. The three of them pushed into the room, clearing high, low, and middle.

Maria Gomez, the man with the van dyke beard, and Wesker waited for them there. Chris and Jill had the strongest reaction to him. Maybe they'd thought it was a lie. Maybe they'd thought it was a twin. Maybe they'd hoped it was a ghost.

"Wesker!"

"Ah, Chris. I knew you'd arrive. Always the hero," The haughty British accent hadn't changed. Neither had the man in question. He wore black from head to toe, from the fatigues to the Kevlar vest. The expensive sunglasses on his nose hid the inhuman horror that was his eyes. "Imagine my surprise when I was awoken from my slumber to find you were still alive. I admit, at first there was a mass amount of disappointment. I had so hoped someone would have killed you by now…but then…"

He laughed and it chilled the soul to hear it.

"Finding you alive is sweet revenge. I will get to finish what we started all those years ago in the Spencer Mansion. And you've brought my favorite play toy with you. Jill…did they "fix" you I wonder? I see you're still wearing your hair blonde…I must say…it suits you." The ice blonde hair of Wesker himself was legendary.

Jill lifted a hand and fluttered it over her chest where the device had been embedded all those years ago. She steeled the fear in herself and kept the pistol aimed at him.

Wesker shifted his gaze, "Mr. Kennedy! What a delight this is. You and I had such a brief encounter with Krauser in tow all those years ago. It seems you are to be thanked for the sample of Los Plagas the delectable Ada Wong brought to me. Age has not been kind it would seem, I'm afraid you aren't the hapless, handsome, wise cracking hero you once were."

Leon kept the shotgun trained on him, unwavering, "Where is Rebecca?"

"Ah…the mouse. She's…nearby." Wesker smiled slyly and tossed the little clear globe in his hand in the air, catching it smoothly in his gloved palm, "I'm afraid she won't be going home with you today. I have need of her services. And Maria…well she's lost so much. I promised her a new toy when she gave me back my life."

Chris lowered his gun and Jill made some sound of surprise.

"You don't have to do this, you bastard. I'm here. Let Rebecca go and take me."

Wesker laughed, happy as Hannibal Lector must have been when eating human brains. He tilted his head, a curious dog. "Always the hero. And so very predictable. Shall I ruin the surprise for them, Alesio?"

The man with the van dyke beard, Alesio, smiled slyly.

"Alesio it seems would like a playmate as well. I promised him you."

Chris studied the other man for a moment. "Sorry to disappoint you there, Al. But I don't bat for that team."

Alesio grinned, flashing white teeth beneath his mask. "I know. That is part of the fun of it. I do love a big American beef cake…"

Jill laughed a little. "You did want to know what life in prison was like, Chris."

"Yeah girl prison. Not OZ."

"Maybe he'll let you be the pitcher."

Alesio shook his head, grinning. He made a kissy face. Chris shuddered. "I get the feeling he wants a catcher."

Jill shrugged, "Shame we won't be finding out I guess."

"Shame for you maybe. I, on the other hand, couldn't be more thrilled to avoid the answer to that question."

Wesker smiled again, thrilled. "We know how this tale goes, Chris. A high building. A far fall. And a hero who can't help but sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Shall we dispense with the theatrics? I tire of trite clichés."

Wesker moved. Chris braced for the teleportation, the speed, the inhuman agility. But Wesker, it appeared, for now at least, was entirely human. Apparently, the cloning process didn't include the genetic alterations that had been heaped upon him after his death in the Spencer Mansion. Which begged the question…had Wesker once been a normal man? The idea seemed ludicrous.

Chris fired and the shot went wide as Maria Gomez drilled him in the breastplate with her 9mm. Chris stumbled and Jill put a round into Gomez. The woman gasped and grabbed her chest, tumbling against the far wall.

Leon blasted the shotgun at Alesio but the other man had already taken cover behind the desk in the center of the room. At the same moment, Wesker tossed the glass globe in his hand. It rolled across the carpet.

Jill yelled, "Oh shit!"

And they realized it was a flash bang grenade.

They all dove and it went off, tossing the world into blinding light, squealing sound, and smoke. A gun went off somewhere in the middle of the commotion. Someone shouted.

Leon felt someone jerk the shotgun so hard he was thrown forward. He blocked the follow up kick to the groin but he lost the shotgun when he was forced to stop the fist that flew at his face. Leon spun back kick at his aggressor and the other man caught his foot, spinning him out and away. They circled each other in the smoky air. Alesio tossed the shotgun to the floor between them.

"How fast are you, little American? I will let you try for that big gun of yours."

"We haven't been properly introduced, Alesio. I'm Leon Kennedy. Maybe you've never heard about me…but I tend to be faster than your average little American."

"I have heard the tales. I am not impressed. In Italy, a man who runs fast and flies far like an acrobat is not a man but a circus pet. So, perform, circus pet, and make this show worth seeing."

Leon drew the big knife from the front of his vest. Alesio smiled with delight.

"What a little pet you are! Do you bite hard, Agent Kennedy? I bet you do."

"Come a little closer and find out."

"So pretty. I had yet wondered if all American agents are so pretty. What would you be, I wonder, without that pretty face and hair? Would you be so delectable? Maybe we will find out."

"You sure do talk pretty. Maybe that's all you are, all talk. I heard that about European men. A lot of talk, not a lot to back it up. Why don't you stop flirting with me and take your shot?"

Alesio chuckled and shed the suit jacket he wore. Beneath it was a chest rig and a katana down his back as lethal as any Leon had ever seen. He pulled it, twirled it in his hand. "Italian men are known for their patience. We wait years for the right partner to join us in our dance. I saw you, in the masquerade, such a smooth and lithe dancer. So very graceful. If I hadn't turned my eye to the handsome, delicious, and very beefy sidekick of yours…I might have chosen you for my toy. I'd have loved to destroy that pretty face when I was done playing with you."

They stopped circling and Leon shifted into his defensive stance. There was no way he was going to rush a man with a katana. White had taught him the foolishness of that all those years ago in the cage.

Alesio moved first, and he moved smoothly, like liquid steel. He swung and Leon rolled his body back, feeling the swipe of the blade a quarter inch from his chest. The next downward slice he deflected with the blade of his knife and the kissing, ringing spark and squeal of metal to metal. Leon spun through the hit, delivering a brutal kick to the other man's knee as he went.

Alesio stumbled and hacked less smoothly this time with the sword. It was easily avoided as Leon stepped into his attack zone and shoved the knife into him. The knife went hilt deep before the other man could stop it, spilling blood from the chest wound in a fine red wash down that pretty, white shirt he was wearing. Leon twisted it and jerked it free, spraying his face with a fine red mist. He drove it next toward the other man's stomach and Alesio hit him, hard, alongside the face with the hilt of the sword.

He grabbed Leon's arm and tossed him away in a single move. Leon rolled along the ground and flipped to his feet. His face smarted, no doubt, but the other man was bleeding badly now. The chest blow should have killed him. It was heart, direct, and brutal. It told him the other man wasn't entirely human.

Alesio smiled happily and stuck his fingers in his own chest. He lifted them to his mouth and licked them. "My blood is not my favorite treat of course…but it is a good antipasto. Come again, mio belloccio. I will see if yours is better."

Leon braced again, waiting.

"Ah…a wise man after all. Where did you learn to fight I wonder? No American moves as you do." He circled a bit, pacing. The sounds of fighting raged on around them. "Are your amici dying now, I wonder? Do you care?"

"One problem at a time. I can't help anyone if I'm being sliced up like crostini."

Alesio made a kissy face at him and moved. The blade swung and Leon dropped, throwing his leg out as he went. It swished over his head as he foot swept the other man. Alesio spilled to the floor and Leon drove the knife forward simultaneously. It split across the falling man's abdomen, opening his belly in burst of blood. It should have killed him and again, it didn't.

Alesio grabbed Leon's vest as he went and jerked. The strength in the other man was ridiculous. Leon went up, tossed into a perfect arch through the air. When he came down, he figured he'd hit the floor. He didn't. Alesio threw a perfectly timed back kick and hit him in the stomach. He went out instead of down and smashed into a row of shelves.

A little dazed, Leon still recovered smoothly. He avoided the sword being driven at his head by a dive to the side at the last possible second. It imbedded into the books where his head had been. Leon drove himself up under the arm of the other man and kicked him in the groin.

Surprised, Alesio grabbed himself and doubled over. Leon jerked the sword from the wall behind him and hefted it.

Alesio stumbled back, rubbing his injured junk.

Leon swished the sword in his hands, getting a feel for it. He kept up on his swordplay skills. He lifted it, poised.

Alesio cocked his head, studying him. "You are a constant, wonderful surprise. You are familiar with the katana?"

"I prefer the wakizashi..but yeah."

"Show me what you do, little samurai."

Alesio rushed him. Leon waited, waited, and took one single swipe at him as he got close enough. If he'd been human, he'd have been dead from it. It was brutal, fast, and wasted no movements. It was a form of attack called Iaido, drawing from the original focus of the Japanese samurai style of fighting known as iaijutsu, that combined the finite skills of the sword play involved and condensed it into a single stroke of death and harmony. An effective method of control and killing when on the battlefield.

It would have bisected a lesser man from shoulder to hip. Alesio didn't even let it land. He spun like a twirling thing to the side at the last second and the stroke bisected nothing but air. He elbowed Leon in the face once, twice, and then back handed him. He jerked the sword out of his hands as he went and then tossed it away.

Leon staggered but held his feet spinning back to see the other man tossing his combat knife from hand to hand. "What a delicious thing you are. Skillful. Who trained you? Who molded you?" He circled Leon slowly and looked him in a way that made his blood run cold. There was sex in that look, true, but it wasn't any kind of sex he wanted to see. It was all about blood and pain and torture. It was like he wanted to open up Leon's skin and see what his bones tasted like. "To grow so strong, so good, one must first be broken. Who broke you? I would have liked to have seen it. I bet your tears tasted like ambrosia."

"No one ever broke me, you perverted fuck. And you won't be the first."

Alesio shivered, thrilled, "Oh I think I will. And I think you will beg for more before I am done."

He dug his hand into his own bleeding chest. Leon took a step back and looked for the shotgun. It was about ten feet away on the floor, beckoning to him.

Alesio whistled, like calling a dog, and threw a handful of blood into his face.

Surprised, caught off guard, Leon stumbled back coughing from the coppery splash across his eyes. That split second was all the other man needed. He slapped Leon across the face with a beautiful open hand, toying with him. And then he grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the bookshelf hard enough to rattle books and knock them loose to tumble uselessly to the floor.

He forced the other man to his tip toes and Leon struggled, still trying to see around the blood in his eyes.

"Did you know Jack Krauser, mio belloccio?"

Leon stopped struggling and just tried to keep his footing. If he moved another inch higher, Alesio would be choking him. He didn't want him to choke him. Right now, he was fucking with him, playing around. That could turn at any moment and be the end. He didn't want to die dangling from the hands of some sadistic pervert. So maybe he could distract him. The guy did like to talk.

"Yeah I did. Didn't you hear? I killed his ass."

"Yes," Alesio leaned in close until they were nose to nose, "I did hear that. He came to work with us before that of course. He was so angry. Such a mad man. He wanted to revenge himself on you. And on America. You Americans…no loyalty at all. He said…that you maimed his pretty face."

Leon shrugged, watching the man in front of him like watching a cobra waiting to strike. "It was him or me. And he was the uglier of us to start with."

Alesio laughed, delighted. "Oh, he was indeed. Although he was so…big. And beefy. Like your friend. Chris? CHRIS." It sounded like crease when he said it in that accent. And it sounded…gross. "I loved his body. He was a fun toy. He didn't mind the games. They made him stronger. He came to love how I tried to break him. And then he started to crave it. It does that…it gets in your blood and rules you. You could learn to love it as well. You defeated him, my Jack of all Trades, maybe you will replace him. I will make you my pet samurai. I will let you cut me…and I will cut you too. We will dance and I will bathe in the shower of your blood while you beg for more."

Ugh…

UGH.

Leon wasn't sure what was written on his face but he could feel the twin fangs of disgust and fear in his belly trying to kill him. "I'll pass. I've had about all I can take of psychos and games. And really, you're not my type."

Alesio licked the blood from Leon's cheek, shivering. "Who is your type, I wonder? Ada Wong?"

Leon went very still now, watching him.

"Ahhhh yes. Ada Wong…she is a very feminine thing, isn't she? She doesn't play our games. She's very, very clear on that. But she does play her own. Do you know…she brought Albert back to us?" Alesio shifted and rubbed himself against Leon like a cat, "She wanted power. She traded his DNA for it."

Leon tried to pull away from him and the other man lifted him a little more, dangling his feet enough to start really choking him. Leon stopped struggling. "Good boy. Hold very still now. She wanted the power to be free of us for good. She wanted the power to take down her enemies…Glenn gave her that power. And she gave us back Albert."

So, it seemed the bitch in red was to blame for everything. Wasn't she always? Playing one side against the other, forcing a battle between light and dark – she knew no other way but to make everyone her pawn. Leon tasted the regret in his mouth that said he should have killed her all those years ago in Raccoon City. That mistake was likely to get them all killed.

"She spoke of you, you know." Alesio licked Leon's eyebrow, tasting the blood there, "She said you were her boyscout and her Jiminy Cricket. I pictured such a delicate little thing when she described you. Such a whiny, pathetic puppy to chase her and beg for her treats."

Alesio licked the blade of his nose, "But you are so much more. She was right…you are a bello giochi. And you beg so pretty. She couldn't turn you away. Beg pretty, and I will let you go."

"Sorry, I'm not much on utter humiliation. Why don't you stop talking and kill me already?"

"Beg pretty," Alesio licked a wet line from his jaw to his ear, "And I will let your beefy friend go too."

"I think you're underestimating him. He's not just a pretty face either."

"Oh no," Alesio shivered, enthralled, "He's surely not. He is sassy. And so very witty with that mouth of his. Does it bleed as pretty as it talks?"

"Couldn't say. You could let me go though and go ask him yourself."

"There is plenty of time for that. Once I let you go, I don't get to play with you anymore." Alesio leaned in closer and licked his throat over the rapid pulse there, "I know you taste as pretty as you look. Should we see how your blood beats beneath all this bravery?"

Leon opened his mouth to retort and Alesio stopped playing games. He shoved the knife into Leon's stomach just below his vest, just above his left hip. It went hilt deep and ripped a scream from him even as Alesio ground it against his body and held it there.

"See? You make pretty sounds when I am inside of you. How does it feel to know you are mine now?"

The pain lanced from hip to head, bringing his breath in a desperate shuddering gasp. Leon trembled, trapped on his tiptoes halfway between choking and being stabbed to death. His mouth lifted at one corner, a tiny smile, and his words came out a little ragged, backed by intense pain, but strong, "If you stab like you fuck, I don't think I have anything to worry about. I may not even notice you're back there."

Alesio laughed, loud and high and excited. "So brave and stupid. Even now. Even here. Esiste una persona speciale con chi posso contare nei momenti di bisogno."

Leon shuddered and Alesio twisted the knife inside of him, oh so gently. It felt like fire and metal and death. It tore a grunt and shivering laugh from him. He met those maniacal eyes and said, "  
Avete paura di quale sarà la causa della vostra morte?"

Alesio twisted the knife again, slower, "He speaks Italian. He threatens me with death. He is such a treasure. I would like to keep you alive, my little American agent. I would like to make you mine forever."

"You can stick whatever you've got in me, you piece of shit. It won't make me yours." Blood spilled from corner of Leon's mouth as he spoke. His voice was deep and harsh with the pain of it. He was straddling somewhere between throwing up and passing out from it.

"Yes…such a shame. I would have liked to have you at my side. What pain we would bring together to others. I would make you my lover…yes…this is true but also my protetto. What you would do to your beefy Chris…it would make the blood sing." He jerked the knife out so fast that Leon nearly vomited from it. Blood poured instantly and wetly between them. Leon fell forward from the relief of having it gone and straight into being choked.

Alesio dragged him back from the bookshelf, dangling him as he kicked. He tossed the knife away and stuck his finger into the ragged hole he'd put in the other man's body. The sharp intrusion into the bleeding cavity felt like he'd stuck a hot poker in his flesh. Leon, already choking, reeled with the pain of it.

Alesio tossed him away like garbage and stuck the taste of blood in his mouth to suckle. Leon rolled along the floor, bleeding, but alert. He grabbed his knife and flipped to his feet, favoring his side but ready. The shotgun waited between them now, taunting him.

Alesio eyed it, eyed Leon, and gestured dramatically, "Go ahead, go for it. Why not? We both know you are beaten. We both know you won't leave her alive. But I will let you try, I love to watch you fight. It gets me ready to fight your friend. I hope he has as much forza as much intensita as you. If not…well..I will rape him, kill him, and find another."

"What is it with you bad guys and rape? Can't get laid without it?"

"Oh, we can…we just don't want to."

Ugh.

Leon braced, holding the knife at the ready. "Come on then, let's get to it. Kill me and be done with it. Chris' sweet ass is waiting for you."

Somewhere in the smoke, he heard the man in question yell back, "It's going to keep on waiting, thank you very much!"

And Jill yelled as well, from somewhere, "It is a sweet ass though, honestly! Who can blame him?"

Leon kept himself smile a little, happy to know the other two were still alive somewhere. "Enough talk. Come on!"

Time slowed down. It all focused to the man who rushed him. He spun back and the other man sped past. Leon slashed as he spun, bringing the knife across Alesio's arm, over his side, and clear across his back. There was blood and shouting and Leon leaped on his back like a monkey.

He drove the knife down into the other man's throat and felt the fast and furious squirt of blood, before he was jerked free and tossed away. As he came down, Leon dropped into a shoulder roll. He slid out of it along the ground and grabbed the shotgun. Alesio dropped his boot to stomp down on him and Leon rolled through the slide and sprang to his feet. The swipe the recovered katana nearly took his head as he came to his feet. Leon fell backward and it sliced inside over his vest with a scream of metal on bulletproof plating.

Leon threw his body into a perfect flip as the sword came at him again, slicing the air where he'd stood a moment before. He hefted the shotgun and aimed at the bleeding man who charged him. He fired and the sound was echoed by another gun. His round missed the chest of the other man and tore into his side and hip instead. Maria Gomez shot him in the back. The vest did its job, it took the impact, but the strength of the close-range round threw him forward.

She grabbed the shotgun from his hands and rammed the butt of it at his face as he fell. He tried to block the blow with his arm but she had pretty good aim. It cracked his chin hard enough that he tasted blood and lost his footing. Alesio was fast, impossibly fast, and big. He grabbed Leon by the vest and jerked him off his feet. He lifted him over his head like he was going to bench press the small man and shook him like a dog.

Teeth snapping together, Leon kicked uselessly before he was airborne. The other man tossed him high and wide like he weighed nothing. He hit the desk in the center of the room and rolled off it, coming down on his face on the floor.

A foot smashed into his back, trapping him there. "Stay down, Agent Kennedy, or I will drive my sword into your pretty little ass. That is not generally the type of driving I like to do on such a skinny American ass. There are so many nicer ways to rip it open."

On the floor, Leon spit blood from the hit to the face. He took offense to the skinny ass remark. It wasn't that bad of an ass for a guy pushing forty. He was also mildly afraid the night was going to end with a big, beefy Italian guy trying to cornhole him.

Gomez had Jill in a headlock near the far door. Leon couldn't see Chris and Wesker but he figured the odds of winning had slipped badly against them at this point. They needed cavalry to ride in to the rescue.

The sound of helicopter blades was very close by. It appeared outside the inverted face of the clock, hovering. The sounds of rushing air filled the room around them.

From the floor, Leon shouted, "Wesker! WHERE IS REBECCA?"

For his efforts, Alesio was as good as his word, he drove the sword into Leon's ass. It drove right through the outside edge of his left cheek and bit through into the floor beyond. Leon couldn't stifle the shout of pain that it ripped from his mouth. His poor left side had been stabbed and sliced to shit at this point.

"I did warn you, Agent Kennedy. Next time it won't be just the cheek."

"Alesio," Wesker's voice was quietly laughing at them all, "Help Mr. Kennedy up. It's best to have this talk, face to face."

Alesio ripped the sword from his body and he didn't even have the vocal capacity to scream about it this time. He was jerked to his knees and the shotgun was aimed at his face. Jill was bound on the floor in front of him. Leon scanned the room, looking for Chris.

The panic in his gut intensified at the sight of the other man, spitted like an insect in a science kit on the wall beyond them. Wesker had clearly won that battle. He'd shoved Chris' combat knife into his chest and pinned him against the wall to bleed to death. Chris was dead or dying because it looked like a heart blow from this distance, his chest and stomach were dark with blood.

Jill jerked against her bonds, screaming, "CHRIS! HOLD ON!"

"This is what failure looks like, Mr. Kennedy. And what defying me ends in. So I'm going to give you a piece of advice, when you come looking for me, and we both know you will, make sure you are ready to die. I'm going to let you live. I enjoy a nice revenge story after all. And I did so love the fun of playing good cop, bad cop with Chris all these years. Sadly, his time has come to an end as the hero in our sordid little tale."

Wesker shifted to Maria and she jerked Jill to her feet. "I'm going to leave Ms. Valentine to be your sidekick today as well. I've had my fun with her already. She was my toy for a long time and did my bidding so beautifully. Do you remember how many bodies we buried together, Jill? Those were such fun times."

"Wesker," Leon jerked against the man who held his vest, gaining his feet, "You better tell this idiot to pull that trigger and kill me. Or I'm going to make it my personal mission to destroy you."

"Alesio, if you'd please." Alesio grabbed Leon around the throat and picked him clear up off the ground. Leon kicked, choking and gagging. "Mr. Kennedy, your threats will get you nowhere but dead. Think about what comes next and ask yourself if you really think you can win. My enemies tend to meet very painful, very final ends."

Alesio lowered him to the ground on his tip toes again.

He moved toward Chris where he dangled, trapped on his own knife but still very alive. Chris was trying to pull the knife out and free himself. He was pale and blood had pooled on the ground beneath his dangling body. His gloved hand couldn't get a strong enough grip on the knife handle to pull it clean.

Wesker slapped his hands away, smiling. "All these muscles…and still you fail. Still you can't see what I tried so hard to teach you in STARS. Brains will always best brawn, my old nemesis. Surely you know that now." And Wesker jerked the knife out of him.

Chris fell forward on a gushing burst of blood. He made no sound as he fell to his hands and knees on the floor.

Jill struggled, shouting, "Stop it! STOP IT! He's dying!"

Chris wasn't dead yet. Wesker kicked at him and he caught the foot that tried and tossed the other man away. Amused, Wesker studied him. "Human will always surprises me. Alright…show me what you're made of Chris Redfield. I'm interested to see how far will gets you."

Chris got to his feet, bleeding like a stuck pig. Wesker rushed him. Being human came with disadvantages it seemed. He was still immensely well trained and highly skilled but he was also functioning at a normal speed.

Chris deflected the knife with a powerful swipe to the arm and drove with his hip to put a punch into the gut of the other man that was loud enough to startle in the silence. He took a slash across the left biceps for his effort but it saved him a fatal blow to the throat. He head butted Wesker as he drew back to try again with that knife.

The glasses broke with a crack and a snap of giving metal and lenses. The blonde bastard reeled away and reached up to grab the shattered sunglasses. He smiled, slowly, and tossed them away. The eyes that watched were nothing to write home about: they were simply human blue. But the rage inside of them was another story.

Alesio spoke, still holding Leon on his tiptoes, "Shall I help you, Albert?"

"Not necessary. This one isn't long for the world without help. He must know that. He's trying to draw it out so he dies here instead of being your toy. Isn't that so, Chris?"

"Chris! Stop fighting! Please!"

"He had you once Jill! You telling me dead isn't better then what he put you through? What do you think they will do to me if I just give up?!"

Jill wept openly now, "They'll kill you. Please! I can't watch you die."

"I watched you die once," Chris slipped a little in his own blood, circling away from Wesker, "I survived it. You will too. If you live, you avenge me. That's what living is all about."

Wesker tilted his head, studying Chris a little, "Revenge?"

Chris stopped, shook his head, "No…JUSTICE."

Leon added, quietly, "Absolution."

Alesio shoved two fingers into the ragged wound on his side and stole his breath, ripping a ragged cry from his mouth. He lifted them to his mouth to lick clean. "Who will absolve you now, my little acrobat? My playful little samurai…it seems you will be mine after all. Your friend is too stupid to lay down and quit."

Wesker sighed, dramatically. "All this bravado. All this human emotion. I'm bored of it. Alesio, if you please."

He nodded and Alesio dropped Leon to the ground abruptly. Leon stumbled, gasping, and went to one knee. Bleeding down his leg, he rose anyway and pulled his side arm from the holster on his thigh. He pointed it and the shotgun went off.

It hit him in the chest this time and threw him backward. He landed on his back, skidded in his own blood, and smashed into the wall. The vest saved his life but the heavy round hurt like hell. It robbed him of his breath and felt like a double fisted, full power punch to the chest.

Jill cried out from the floor. "Don't! Don't take him! Chris!"

Leon rolled his head, taking ragged painful breaths. He couldn't find the strength to roll over quite yet but he could see Alesio and Wesker flank his longtime friend. Chris stumbled, trapped between them and dying. This was how it all ended, in a bloody, painful brawl. Leon rolled to his side and aimed down his arm with his pistol. It was still clutched in his hand like a prayer.

He pulled the trigger and the bullet hit Albert Wesker clean in the chest. Surprised, Wesker watched the blood blossom on his shirt. He staggered, clasping a hand over the wound. Leon went to fire again and the gun clicked empty.

Wesker regained his footing and Chris tackled him. He hit him full around the middle like the defensive tackle he'd been in high school. The smashed into the wall and struggled. They traded blows, grappling for their lives.

Leon jerked the pistol to him and worked to get it unjammed.

Jill screamed a warning just as Chris landed a beautiful kick right to Wesker's groin. He grabbed that icy blonde hair and drew back his fist to likely break all those wolfish teeth…and Alesio backhanded him. It was like swatting a fly for a guy that big.

He sent him flying and Chris hit the inverted face of the clock. The metal rang, vibrating with the impact. He slid to the ground and didn't move.

Jill was on her side trying to inch worm toward him. "No! PLEASE! LEAVE HIM!"

Alesio picked Chris up from the ground and cuddled him to his big body like a teddy bear. Chris wasn't anyone's idea of small man but he looked small clutched to the front of that monster like a broken baby doll.

"He is the best toy ever. So brave and selfless. I will enjoy the games we will play."

Apparently, the only game of cornhole that was going to happen involved Chris Redfield. The gun snapped back with a spring of steel and he jerked a round into the chamber. Leon rolled and tried to get to his feet. Maria Gomez appeared above him and put the shotgun an inch from his nose. "Do not try it, hijo de la chingada."

There were shouts and running up the stairs now.

"Ah…it seems the cavalry has arrived…so here is where we bid adieu." Clutching his chest, stumbling a bit, looking pretty fucked up considering he was usually cucumber cool, Albert Wesker gestured toward the fire exit door, "Alesio. Maria…if you would."

Leon should have seen it coming. He threw a hand up to block it but was too slow. She flipped the shotgun and brought it straight down into his face.

The world burst white and then went very, very black.

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

Greer Army Hospital

The town of Hoffnung, a municipality of nearly ten thousand people, sat in the district of Kaiserslautern in the Rhineland-Palatinate nearly twenty kilometers west of the Palatinate forest. The army hospital there was reserved for high functioning personnel and dignitaries. Often, those with diplomatic immunity were treated there and released to maintain matters of national and international security.

Leon S. Kennedy had awoken there in the hospital nearly after the encounter in Vito De Mare. Apparently after Maria Gomez had knocked him out, she'd continued to hit him with the shotgun until she'd apparently beaten him within an inch of his life.

His first trip back into conscious thought had come on a tidal wave of massive pain and confusion. He'd heard people shouting, felt hands holding him down. A voice came to him, gentle but commanding, "Agent Kennedy! Agent Kennedy, my name is Yoko Suzuki. I am a doctor here. You are in the army hospital in Hoffnung, Germany. You are alive but not by much. I need you to stay completely still for me. You won't be able to see anything, you won't be able to move very much. Your clavicle is broken in three places and so is your left arm. Your jaw is broken and your right cheekbone has collapsed. You have two broken ribs and a fractured skull. You had internal bleeding from a ruptured spleen but we've removed that and stopped the bleeding. I know this all seems horrible and unbelievable. But although it's a lot to absorb and very scary, I want you to try not to panic. We have bags of tricks and very talented doctors all around you that are going to make sure we put you back together. This is not your Humpty Dumpty story, Agent Kennedy. I promise you. The president has made it very clear that we will be making sure you walk out of here just like new."

But his mind was screaming: WHERE WAS REBECCA? WHERE WAS CHRIS? WHERE WAS JILL? WAS HE THE ONLY SURVIVOR? If so…he wasn't sure he wanted them to fix him at all.

And the darkness claimed him again.

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017

Something dripped in the darkness, dripped and offered the only sound in the encompassing blackness. Curled against the cold stone wall, Rebecca Chambers had lost any sense of day or time. The complete absence of anything but the stench of wet and cold and dark had begun to make her feel the effects of sensory deprivation.

And then the cell door opened and a body was thrown into the darkness with her.

She froze, holding utterly still.

The body was breathing, that much was clear, and she could smell the hot coppery scent of blood. She whispered, finally, "Hello?"

The body groaned.

And Rebecca was desperately afraid they'd thrown a zombie into the cell with her. The fear clawed up her throat and out of her mouth in a tiny moan of terror. And then the body spoke, "Rebecca?"

Her voice squeaked out, "Chris?"

"…yeah."

She moved toward him in the dark and found him lying on the floor. She grabbed at his hand and squeezed. "Are you okay?"

He was quiet for a long moment before he answered, "I'm not dead."

Maybe that was as close to okay as either of them was going to get. She felt along his arms to see if she could find any wounds. He was shirtless and her hand touched his chest and brushed over a bandage.

Chris made a sound of pain.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's ok." He sat up. "They actually bandaged my damn wound for me."

"…where are we?"

The darkness breathed around them. His voice was low when he answered, "I don't know. Are you alright?"

"I think so. I woke up in this cell. I don't think I'm hurt. I don't know how long I've been here."

"I can't tell you that. We chased after you. We found…"

"….Wesker."

"Yeah."

"Cloning."

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"They were too fast, too strong, too much. I blacked out. I woke up…" His voice trailed off.

She waited but he was silent.

Finally, his voice filled the dark again, "I don't know where we are. I don't know if Jill or Leon is alive. I don't know if we're going to die in here. I don't know what they want. "

"Oh my god…"

Their hands caught and held. Rebecca closed her eyes, shivering in the cold. Somewhere outside of their cell a lantern began to bob. Footsteps came toward them with a tiny light flickering in the darkness. The cell door opened again.

Maria Gomez was framed in the door way, she stepped inside the room. The big man, Alesio, stepped in behind her. She smiled happily in the darkness.

"You have awoken, mi nina paloma. I am so excited…you will be my greatest masterpiece yet."

Chris rose and pulled Rebecca with him. He pushed her behind his back. The lantern light hit his body and showed her how bad it was. He was bandaged on the chest but his back was a ruin of whip marks, oozing blood and awful. His back looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Rebecca made sound of sympathy and distress.

Maria giggled a little. "You would fight me? You are so hurt. So broken. How will you fight? With your fists?"

Alesio stepped up beside her and the leer on his face was wolfish and terrifyingly mad. "He is strong. I have tried to break him. He will not shout, will not cry. He is big and tasty and tough. I put the last to his back and his skin ran red and beautiful. I licked it, rolled my face in it…he made not a sound. He is soooo much more than I had hoped for. Not a beefcake in just body…he is what they told me he would be…a hero."

Maria licked her lips, "The pequeta paloma is not so touch I think. She will break and cry. She will be so fun to watch."

Chris' voice was firm, cold, and deadly. "You won't touch her. If you touch her, I'll cut your fucking hands off and shove them up your ass."

Alesio sighed and his eyes flashed excitement in the dark. "Oh, I will enjoy breaking him so much. He is a stallion, yes? He wants to be ridden but he must be taught to love the pain of the ride. Will you bite and buck me off you, my stallion? I will soon find out."

Rebecca was behind him and so close that only she saw the hair on the back of Chris' neck stand up in fear. She spoke quietly, but firmly, "You won't touch him. If you touch him, I'll cut your fucking dick off and shove it up your ass."

Surprised, Chris glanced over his shoulder at her. And his eyes twinkled. If she could amuse him, make him laugh when things were this bad, maybe they'd survive this after all.

Alesio hooted with laughter. "Oh! The little girl is tough after all. Is he your lover, little girl? Do you defend his big body with your tiny one for love?"

"You won't ever know!"

"I have tasted his blood. It is rich and strong and heady. Did he tell you about it? I bound him to my bed. I stripped him naked. And I used my whip on him for being such a bad boy before. I dipped my fingers in his blood and tasted him. He tasted of salt and sweat and strength. But I want his fear. I want his pain. I want his grief and rage and madness. I will have it. I will have his sounds of pain and regret. I will hear his cries of death and dying. If it means stripping each piece of skin from him until there is nothing but muscle and bone, I will have it."

Rebecca saw the fear tighten Chris' body. She stepped up beside him…and then stepped in front of him. "You ugly little pervert. You won't ever touch him again. I'll kill you if you try."

Chris figured there was a first time for everything. Here was this tiny little bit of a girl standing up to defend him. A heroine in a dirty ball gown.

He looked at her and whispered, "Where'd this come from?"

She answered, softly, "Faith…and Leon."

"He was alive when I went down, Rebecca. That's all I know."

"He's alive," She said it so strongly, so calmly. He could do nothing but believe her. "I'd feel it if he wasn't."

"Oh, she is so very tough! Such a sad little mouse she was when first we found her. Glenn had stolen her heart and soul and left her a struggling thing on the floor to die. The big man, he came to her rescue then, Alesio. Did you know? And he…he killed my Diego. He killed them. He and that cabron! He was no alive when l left him! He was nothing! I beat him to death and watched him choke on his own blood."

Rebecca spit at her, "Liar!"

"Ha! I was going to kill you slowly…now I think I will make you mine first. I like your spirit…it makes me hungry for the taste of you!"

Maria looked so aroused it was frightening. Alesio looked the same. Jesus Christ, Chris thought desperately, that were at the mercy of two sadomasochists with super human strength.

Rebecca had to know that this was probably where they'd come to die.

He stepped up beside her and into the circle of light from that one lifted lantern.

He'd been here before: up against impossible odds with two super human enemies. He'd never been afraid to die. You couldn't do what they did and live in fear of the end. But what came before, the torture, the pain…the rape. The idea of that scared the living shit of out him.

He wasn't going down that road without a fight that ended bloody, bad, and desperately. The underdog had been rising for centuries after all…so maybe this wasn't where they died. Maybe it was where they WON.

Alesio met his eyes, held them. "You intend to fight me as well, my handsome little toy?"

Chris braced himself beside the little bit of strength in a ball gown. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in solidarity. And then they both braced for the fight of their lives.

"Oh yeah. That's the thing about me, I don't know when to just give up."

Rebecca clenched her fists and smiled, nothing more than a wolfish bearing of her teeth in the spill of low, menacing light, "Neither do I."

Maria closed the door to the cell behind her. "Well…then let the game begin."

Rebecca ranged herself close to Chris. The blood from his whipped back was hot on her arm as it trickled. She wanted to yell at them, WHERE IS LEON!?, but then they'd know…they'd KNOW that he was her weakness. She wouldn't have them going after Leon. She'd die here to defend him.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, "We need them to get us out of this cell. If we can get out, we can come up with a plan."

Chris breathed, nodded, "Although I'm more of a point and shoot type of guy."

"I know. Good thing for you, I'm not."

"It irks my shit to no end that we could use Leon right now."

"What an odd thing to say."

"For a skinny little wimp, he sure knows his shit about tracking and location. I just bet that little bastard could find a way to turn a hole in the floor into an escape route."

Rebecca watched the two menacing monsters close in on them and she answered him, believing what came out of her mouth with every fiber of her being. She'd never meant anything more, "Don't you worry…he doesn't need to save me. He already has. We're going to get out of this and then I'm going to save him instead."

And for the first time since she'd met him, she was no longer afraid.

Silver Lake, Montana 2017

That first night…

He'd thought she was sleeping of course. He never would have moved away if he hadn't.

She waited until he was gone before she followed him, silently.

He was standing on the balcony of his enormous mansion. The king of the castle. The great Hercules who had fought and risen to fight again against the power of the gods. He was beauty and truth and the unfiltered flawed perfection that was humanity. He was Leon Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

The name rolled in her head like a fairy tale. Leon Kennedy. What would he be if he wasn't the legend? What would he be if he was just…normal?

She'd have liked to have seen it.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The cigarette he smoked trailed a snaky line from his mouth to the sky. The sweater he wore, old and soft, fit him the same as the combat gear he wore so carelessly. He was a man who wore boots and spilled blood and loved Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. He had a Peanuts collection of glasses on his shelf in his bedroom that he'd collected over the years.

He had an arsenal in his closet and a training ground in his backyard.

He had a hoola hoop under his bed and a secret little cigarette habit.

He moved like a ninja, like a samurai, and rained death around him with skill and dedication.

He was power and grace and destruction. He was bad jokes and the entire series of Dukes of Hazard on blu-ray. He was such a contradiction, such a riddle, such a deep and endless wonderful mystery. Was there anything that could surprise her more than what she'd found under the surface of the legend?

He settled on the wicker chair on his balcony and picked up the old guitar that sat beside it. He strummed a few chords and started singing.

It seemed there was after all. He had a perfect tenor.

The man who'd shot the President to save the world, liked slow ballads and sat alone in the night singing them.

She felt herself take a long, slow, terrible dive from sex to love. It rolled through her body and stole her breath. It shimmered there, filling her with something that had no name.

Now and Forever.

He didn't sing Sweet Home Alabama. He didn't sing something about loss and regret and emptiness. He didn't pick up the chords of an angry tune and spill his rage to the world.

He sang Now and Forever.

He sang a love song there alone on his balcony.

And could he possibly know that he sang it for her? Not to her, no. But for her? You mixed in some madness when my sanity hangs by a thread…yeah. Yeah that about said it all.

Whenever I'm weary…from the battles that rage in my head…you mix in some madness, when my sanity hangs by a thread…I lose my way but still you seem to understand….now and forever…I will be your man…

She leaned back against the wall and her hand settled against her chest. The tears pricked her eyes for him. He was so lost. He was so full of love. How had no one ever, ever, ever found him before? Maybe he'd always been waiting for her. Maybe he'd always been here waiting.

Now I can rest my worries and always be sure…that I won't be alone anymore…if I'd only known you were there all the time…

She covered her mouth and stopped the little sob that emerged. Yeah. That was it. It was it a hundred times over. He wouldn't be alone anymore. Did he even know how desperately he needed her? She doubted it. So much softness lost under the battle. The battle that had turned his loneliness into another type of armor.

There was no Ada Wong here. Not in this moment. There was no rage or death or dying. There was no hopelessness and hunger and battles that couldn't be won. In the dark, alone on his balcony, Leon Kennedy was nothing more than a man who needed saving.

If she could have walked across that balcony and done it, right in that second, she would have. She would have cut open her chest and spilled her heart into his hands and given him the ability to kill her, kill them both, with the need for it.

The goosebumps covered her body, the tears quietly mixed with the smile on her face. He wasn't ready. If she walked out there and offered herself to him, he'd panic. He'd drop that guitar and grab his armor and fight. He'd fight against her, against himself, against the music that came from his body like the band nerd who'd loved it so long ago. He'd hide it under the bullets and the blood and the fear.

So she listened, and she cried, and she swore if it killed her, if it killed them both, she'd bring him back to himself. But for now…she'd get a little more lost in Leon Kennedy.


	8. VIII: The Ties That Bind

+Author's note:

We will pick up the threads here on a different note. The tale will start months after the battle. It will fill in the blanks via flashbacks (as we've seen plenty up until this point) and show us what has brought us to, what may be, the hardest fight Leon Kennedy has ever known.

In the beginning, we found our hero in the darkest place of his life. There seemed to be no hope, no escape, and no end to it all. He had nothing to fight for anymore. The body was able and the spirit was broken.

Now he does. The soul drives him as it never has done before and now the flesh holds him back.

I barely do anything with my life these days but work, sleep, eat, pantomime at normal life, and write at 2 a.m. So the muses remain in my favor. Instead of doubting them, I'm working with them these days.

Fight Song was a go to regular anthem for this Roar by Katy Perry. And Catch My Breath. Pop music has taken over my Echo lately. But it does inspire one to work out and work harder.

Slainte.

….

VIII. The Ties That Bind

E PLURIBUS UNUM

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."

― Mahatma Gandhi

:::::::::::::::::::::::::EIGHT::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

9 months later

They told him she was dead.

The official word from the powers that be used the phrased M.I.A. but the idea was the same. They weren't looking, weren't trying, and had closed the door on ever finding Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers. The search was done.

He'd awoken nearly three weeks after it was over. He'd been sedated and on drips and full of holes and pins and clips. He was a broken thing, a shattered egg, a mess. He heard them referring to him repeatedly as the Humpty Dumpty Miracle.

He'd arrived on the doorstop of that hospital a disaster. It had been touch and go for awhile. He'd coded twice on the table and needed repeat transfusions. He'd nearly bled out in the helicopter while they tried to triage him.

Jill had survived the attack in good shape. Gomez had been so busy beating him to death, she hadn't wasted time on Jill. Jill came out with little more than a scratch.

He was pretty sure he'd had none of his own blood actually pumping through his veins in those first few days. He remembered none of it of course. He had no cognitive recognition of that time. He'd been told things later when he was awake and could remember.

They'd searched, searched, looked, poked around and rattled trees in the beginning to see what shook loose. No one was talking. No one was helping. The locals all but shut down and developed amnesia regarding any relevant information.

And they'd finally given up.

Officially, according to the B.S.A.A. and the U.S. government, they were both no longer a priority and no longer worth the expenditure of resources. The usage of those resources were better allocated attempting to stem the outbreak of viral attacks that had started to spread around Europe. Clearly someone was raising a red herring, drawing attention away. He had no doubt, none, that it was Ada Wong.

The next few months were hit or miss for him on memory. He would have a surgery, he would fall asleep, he would wake up and time had elapsed. The cycle perpetuated until he was finally done and declared ready for the real battle…physical therapy.

Jill had walked in in the first few weeks that he was out of bed. He was bruised, swollen, and bandaged. He was also angrier than a hornet. He knocked the cup away that he'd been trying to pick up and it hit the far wall, splashing water everywhere.

The little candy striper they'd sent in was terrified, shaking like a leaf. He was sitting up in a chair, he had tubes and pumps attached to him. His face was bandaged on one side and the other side was screwed up in rage.

Jill raised her hand and gestured to the little girl who was trying to get him to hold the cup. The girl fled, and happily. "Was it necessary to scare the shit out of her?"

That one angry blue eye swung to her face. He spoke and it was gruff and rough, the pins and wires in his jaw had taken his deep voice and turned it hoarse and harsh. "I'm a fucking cripple."

She had sympathy for him, she did. It was a far, far, far fall to go from a god to a mortal. And worse than that, a mortal who was broken. Jill moved toward him and knelt, putting her hand on his knee. He watched her, shaking with fury.

"You're not a cripple. You are a man who had the shit beat out of him and survived."

"Should have let me die."

She squeezed his knee, hard. It brought his breath out in a pained gasp. He went to smack her hand and she rolled it over to grip his. Their fingers slid together. She held that one, rage filled blue eye with her own.

"You can be mad at your body. You can be mad at the world. You can be mad at Albert Wesker and Maria Gomez. You can be mad at God. That's ok. I think that's what makes us strong when we're broken. But you won't ever say that shit to me again. They took Chris away and he wasn't moving," Her voice broke a little and his angry grip slackened and held. He held her hand now, watching her, "They have Chris. Is he dead? I don't know. But if he's dead, he died fighting. They have Rebecca. They took her too. Or have you forgotten?"

"No."

"No. I can see that you haven't." She lifted her hand and touched his swollen cheek. That one eye closed and a single tear escaped. Touched, she caught it on her finger and wiped it gently away, "You won't dishonor them by talking like that. I watched them take my best friend in the world away bleeding. If he's alive, wherever he is, they are torturing him right now. That awful pervert…that bastard…you heard how he talked. The things he wanted to do to him…you took a beating. It was awful, AWFUL and you have a right to be pissed. But you survived. You will get stronger, better. I need you to do that. I NEED you to get better, Leon. Because I can't leave Chris to them. I won't. And you can't leave Rebecca. You're alive. You hurt, you're scared, and you're pissed. But you are ALIVE."

He made some sound in his chest. And he nodded, slowly.

"Let me help you get it back. I can help you. But you have to let me."

She picked up the cup from the floor, rinsed it, and filled it with water. She held it out to him. "Now take the fucking cup and stop being a baby."

He might have made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

For a man who had once rock climbed up the face of Silver Mountain, it was hard to be told that he had to relearn how to catch a ball. Here Agent Kennedy, said the pale faced therapist, catch this ball. Like he was a dog, like he was a baby, like he was an invalid.

The first few weeks had been like that, rebuilding his faculties, relearning his strength. His own rigorous physique came to his aid. He was able to recover faster than an average joe in the same situation. And they had clearly never met a man with more fortitude.

When he was able to get out the wheelchair, he started walking. "Fuck the crutches!" He yelled at a well meaning aide one day when he'd had enough of being helped to the damn bathroom like an old man. The restoration and repair of his face had been the worst of it. His vision at four months out still hadn't been a hundred percent. They kept one damn side of his face bandaged for so long he was afraid when they removed it finally, he'd be blind.

He had no clue what he looked like. It didn't matter. There were no mirrors. This was done specifically in cases where significant trauma to the face of a patient had occurred. The finest plastic surgeons in the world had put him back together but they couldn't make him exactly as he had been. The limitations of doctors stopped at making Leon Kennedy flawless it seemed.

He didn't care. The face was the last of his worries. Ugly was fine as long as he was alive. He was going to find her. They had to know that. He absolutely would not stop until he did.

Leon started running the second they gave him the all clear. They wouldn't let him leave the hospital of course but they had a courtyard where they let him work on himself. He ran, pushing himself to his limits. He could barely run a mile in the beginning.

Halfway through it, he had to limp the rest of the way to finish. It terrified him. It was worse than anything else that had happened. He couldn't run. He couldn't run anymore.

Jill came upon him that first day, four and a half months out of his last surgery. She found him panting and leaning over himself as he regained his breath. He was so very thin and so very pale. Shirtless, in his blue running shorts and shoes, he was a shadow of his former self.

She wondered what the world would think of the gaunt man who used to be the legend. They'd likely be as impressed as she was that he wasn't only alive after what had been done to him but that he was still fighting to get back out there. If there was ever a moment to see strength, to know she stood in the presence of a hero, this was it.

She could see the suggestion of ribs and spine in his skin as he rose. He'd lost nearly thirty pounds being bed ridden. It was a lot on a man who'd been honed and athletically built in the first place. When he turned and saw her, soaked in sweat and white as a sheet with pain, she noticed that his perfect abs looked desperate against his skinny frame. His stomach was concave over clearly defined hips. His collarbone and clavicle showed starkly beneath tightly drawn skin and she could make out the impression of his breastbone as well. And his arms? Well they were as skinny as the rest of him.

He watched her walk toward him with resentment. She was beautiful as she'd always been. She curved in all the right places with feminine softness and muscles and lithe strength. She was wearing little running shorts and a sports bra in bright pink. She smiled as she offered him a bottle of water.

He took it, nodding, and slugged a gulp of it. "Thanks."

He slipped a hand over his face, rubbing at the sweat.

Oh yes. Then there was the worst part of all it. Or the part that was the most unbelievable…Leon Kenendy had survived being nearly beaten to death. He'd been put back together by the wonders of medicine and science. He'd lived through the humiliation of physical therapy and having people help him wipe his ass while he healed. But that wasn't the worst part…nope.

They'd done more then take away his dignity and erode his strength.

They'd cut off all his hair.

They'd shaved his head to operate on his skull.

Who was Leon Kennedy without his hair? They couldn't have let him have that, at least that, piece of himself to hold on to? Jill had been so mad on his behalf when she come to see him after they'd done it.

It was growing back now but slowly. The short crop of it that he wore was attractive, yes, and very blonde. She'd forgotten that, it seemed, that he was blonde. They looked a bit like two golden dolls standing in the light of the rising sun.

They'd cut his fucking hair off.

She'd turned to the nurse when she'd seen him in the hospital bed. "Get me the fucking doctor."

The nurse had blinked in surprise at the tone and gone to get her. Yoko Suzuki, a Raccoon City survivor who'd been little more than a teenager when she'd escaped the T-Virus outbreak all those years ago, brilliant medical genius. She'd gone on to become the foremost surgeon in the world on hopeless cases. She'd made an entire career out of putting people back together.

She was small and fine boned and pretty with her long dark hair and strong Japanese heritage. She'd worked under Birkin in Raccoon City all those years before but didn't remember much of it. Umbrella had wiped her memory prior to the outbreak. She'd spent a long time trying to find answers. The answers had led her to the B.S.A.A. and her job as head of the hospital in Germany.

In a white lab coat over a beautiful dress of powder blue, Yoko had been smiling as she met Jill outside of his hospital room where he slumbered peacefully.

"Ms. Valentine," They shook hands, "He did well. The surgery to stop the brain bleed was successful. Our neurosurgeon feels quite confident that there will be no lasting damage to his cognitive function or memory."

Jill nodded and was incredibly happy to know that. She was. But it had to addressed, "You cut his fucking hair off, Dr. Suzuki."

"Yes. I'm afraid we had to in order to get to the skull and repair the bleed and the fracture. A shame, I know. His hair was quite beautiful and, I understand, quite iconic," Yoko blinked and smiled, "But please. It's Yoko. We've actually met before, Ms. Valentine, once at J's Bar before everything fell apart. You were on a date I believe with Kevin Ryman."

Jill blinked and had to laugh a little. "Jesus…Kevin. I had forgotten about that. And it's just Jill."

"Kevin and I became quite good friends during the outbreak. He saved my life, more than once I might add."

Jill took her hand and squeezed, "He survived?"

"He did." Yoko smiled, "Along with a few others of us. Alyssa Ashcroft, the reporter who now works for the New York Post. David King, a plumber who last I heard had traded in his wrench and pipe for kids and carpool. George Hamilton, who actually is the neurosurgeon on Leon's case. Mark Wilkins, a security guard who became a stay at home dad I believe. There were a few others but that's making an already long story, terribly terribly long. Some of us remained close. Others; not so much."

They moved a little away from Leon's room to speak quietly. "They told me that you lost two members of your team in Italy. Any luck in the search?"

"Nothing. The bastards! They only care about the bottom line."

Yoko touched her arm and nodded. "Kevin might be the right person to call. He's in the F.B.I. Apparently even though S.T.A.R.S. didn't want him, what happened in Raccoon spurred him to greatness. He's been with the Bureau for nearly twenty years now."

"You think he'd help us?"

"I think he'd be happy to." Yoko smiled, widely. "Should I call him? Or would you like to?"

Jill chuckled, amused, "We had one date. Kevin was a bit of a heavy drinker back then. And I wasn't having any of that. Good guy but it was just the one date."

"Ah. He spoke fondly of you with just a little bit of nostalgia. I thought maybe you might like to reconnect."

"You know what? What the hell? Why not? Chris would tell me life's too short not to keep old friends. Let me have his number."

So, she'd called Kevin Ryman. He was doing everything he could to help them look. She had faith he was going to find something eventually for them.

She focused on Leon now, watching him. "How far today?"

"About two thirds," He was still breathing heavily, "I'll get there."

"Do you want me to work with you? We could start light; strength training, build up your core, mild cardio. I think a few hits on the old boxing bag couldn't hurt either. Might feel good."

He smiled a little, panting, and shrugged. The smile was still something even in the finely drawn face. "Sure. I could use the help honestly."

She studied him in the spill of pink and orange light from the coming dawn. "You don't have to push yourself this hard, Leon. We don't even know where they are right now."

"I know that," He watched a cloud trickle over the red orb of the rising sun, "I know that. But I have to be ready. We're going to find something and soon. I have to be ready."

"Then we'll get you ready."

It took another month of daily training to get him to that mile mark without killing himself. Inside of another three weeks, he'd gotten himself up to five miles. She worked with him, pushed him, and guided him.

He couldn't dead lift more than twenty pounds at first. The frustration of being unable to do a pull up or even a push up had nearly broken his resolve. The rage, the anger, had come out of him in words she didn't think she'd heard used since her time in Delta Force. He'd gone against the heavy bag like a man with a vengeance.

They'd trained together, grappling and going against each other as only two people who have died and come back can do. He was an unstoppable force and she the power behind him that drove him to more. When he faltered, she gave him no pity. She didn't gently pull him into battle, she became the Valkyrie that forced him, screaming, into the fray beside her.

One afternoon, she knocked him on his ass and he slid along the floor of the hospital gym…and stayed down. Panting, Jill moved to look down at him, "That's it?"

He stared up at her, angry, and sweaty. "Tell me how you came back from it."

She knew what he meant. She'd never spoken of it, her time with Wesker. She'd never told a soul about what had happened. She hadn't told Chris, she hadn't told anyone. She put her hand down to him and helped him up.

He limped as she led him to the recovery table. Without being asked, she started to work the knots from his tired muscles. She started on his calves, which were tight and tortured. And she spoke, quietly, "The first time I killed someone, I had been in his control for three months. It was a woman, a scientist for Tricell that managed to walk in at the wrong time. A sweet kid, probably fresh out of a college. I looked at her, so very aware inside my own body, and I shot her in the face."

She shifted her hand to the back of his left thigh and kept rubbing, "I couldn't stop it. When he'd tell me to do something, I'd just do it. I'd try to fight but it was pointless. He had a perfect little soldier. And all the skills I had, all my training, it worked against me. I was his toy. And once he started me killing, it didn't stop."

Her hands shifted to his other leg and continued to ease the pain that radiated up his body. He wondered, while he listened silently, if anyone had ever tried to ease her pain. "There was a series of faces. There was a handful of dignitaries and higher ups in the Global Pharmaceutical Corporation. Some were dispatched with just a shot to the face. Some I choked to death. Others…"

She was quiet for so long that he lifted off the table enough to look over his shoulder at her. She sighed and switched her focus to his pelvis and the back of his hips. "Well…by the time Chris found me, I had done things that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Wesker…he's not just bad. He's evil. He's missing something inside of him that the rest of us have. He feels nothing. Those two perverts with him? They are just like him. They can only find joy in other's misery. Wesker doesn't even find that. He just craves power."

Jill worked on his lower back and brought a sound of pain from him as she found the soreness near his spine. She worked the spot relentlessly, easing the strain. "When Chris destroyed him, part of me was…sad. It sounds funny to say that. But I had so hoped to be the one to end him. I wanted to watch his face while he died. And the worst part?"

He rolled over and Jill took his left arm to begin work on the sore muscles there. "The worst part was all that darkness, all that horrible darkness. It was inside me now. A part of me, even after I'd been debriefed, deprogrammed…a part of me still wanted to kill. He had forced that madness into me and made me come to crave it. That's the power of what he does. He doesn't just kill you, he makes you love it while you die."

She worked across his chest, careful to rub gently over the scars from his reconstruction. She reached his little cross necklace and took it in her fingers, studying. "Sometimes I think it would have been better if Chris had never come for me…or if he and Sheva had just put me down like a rabid dog."

Leon lifted his hand and laid it over hers, it pressed the cross into his chest. She felt his heart beat, slow and steady. "Jill…you sound like me."

She smiled a little, looking at him.

"The darkness…we think it owns us. We think it wins. How could it not? It's everywhere. The light has no chance against it, right? But the thing about the darkness, Jill? It lies. The darkness doesn't end the light. The light…it comes and slays the darkness. It sends it screaming back to the depths it came from. You just…you have to believe in that. If you stop…you end up a pathetic drunk in a small town bar burying your sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of scotch and trying to figure out why you haven't eaten a bullet yet."

Jill looked at him, really looked at him, and it was the first real time she'd ever done so. He was handsome, this was true, there was no getting around that. But stripped of that perfection he'd once held, reduced to a mortal man struggling to find his way back, he was so much more than that. He should have died on that day. He should have died a hundred times since.

Vito De Mare, Italy 2017

Jill wavered in and out of consciousness as the roar of helicopter blades retreated. She rolled a little to the side and found she could sit up after all. Gomez hadn't wasted time on her. She'd hit her once in the face with the shotgun, cut her bonds, and left with her comrades in arms.

They'd taken Chris. The horror of it thundered through her blood. She would get him back. SHE WOULD GET HIM BACK.

They'd taken Rebecca. Had they taken…

Her eyes found him before her brain could make sense of it. She could see his boots and his legs beyond the desk where he lay. She rose and moved toward him.

The scream fell out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Once, when she'd been on that submarine trying to find answers, she'd come across a man who'd been beaten to death. The image of the puddle of piss, shit, blood and gore that had been left of him had haunted her dreams for years. There was nothing human left of that man she'd seen on that submarine.

This…this was as close as she'd come since that day…the only way she knew the thing on the ground was Leon Kennedy was the boots…the boots were expensive, classy, and very distinctive.

Blood. Blood. Blood everywhere. He lay in a pool of it and only the bubbling of the pool around his face told her he was even still alive. Alive…that was a heavy word.

She dropped to the ground and tried to figure out where to stop the bleeding. But he was bleeding everywhere. Jill made a high keening sound in her throat.

"Leon? Leon, can you hear me? Hold on! Help is coming! Oh god…hold on!" His face. HIS FACE. It wasn't a face. It was hamburger or worse. There was a nose in there, somewhere, because he was still breathing.

She didn't think he would be for long.

Jill pulled him into her lap, trying to plug the holes in him with pressure and sheer force of will. He made some sound, a groan or a gurgle. His eye…his eye was lying in the blood and it wasn't really attached to anything.

Horrified, she pulled him against her. She wouldn't let him die alone. She wouldn't let him die like this. But what could she do? What could anyone do?

She was rocking him in her arms when the cavalry broke in and she started screaming, "He's DYING! He's dying! Hurry! Oh god!"

The next sixteen hours were hell on earth. She wouldn't let anyone touch her, wouldn't let anyone check her out. She paced in the hospital covered in his blood. As she paced, the rage filled her body like a living thing. She could do nothing but swear revenge. If she lost Chris, if Leon died, if Rebecca was lost to them…there would be no place to hide. She would dedicate her entire life to revenge.

Yoko stepped out the operating room and pulled her mask down, "He's alive."

And Jill Valentine started crying.

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

The revenge had gone on the back burner. She'd dedicated herself to his recovery. Chris would expect no less of her. She wanted to believe, somewhere, he was fighting on. He didn't know how to give up.

Chris was the best friend she'd ever had. Everyone had always insisted there was more there but there wasn't. Never had been. They were soul mates, yes, but not in the fashion that lovers were. They were connected on some level that surpassed that.

He was alive. He had to be. She could believe nothing else.

As the time had dragged on, it became harder and harder to believe it. But Leon, his steadfast loyalty to the idea of their survival, would allow nothing less than for her to stand with in that belief. His devotion moved her. His strength was unparalleled. It was the strength that built revolutions, that changed the world…it was the strength that made heroes.

She looked down at him on that table and knew his strength could keep him going when all other lights had failed. It made him the most amazing thing she'd ever seen. Handsome, yes, was Leon Kennedy but that wasn't why she was in love with him.

And she was…big time. She understood, finally, what Rebecca had been talking about. She understood the draw of him. He radiated that power around him like a living, breathing, organic thing. It drew you in, sank its fangs deep, and didn't let go.

She kept her hand on his chest and answered him, "Was it cheap scotch?"

A smile bloomed on his thin face and it was fucking beautiful, "Come on now, I was depressed not dead. Cheap scotch…pffft."

So that was it. Yep. She was in love with him. Which was totally ok of course. She wondered if there was a girl in hundred miles that wouldn't be, given what they'd been through.

Jill leaned down close to his smiling face and smirked, "You beat me one of these days on that mat back there, I'll buy you a case of that expensive scotch you love."

He grinned at her, "Deal. For the record, a case of my scotch is probably outside your paygrade."

"I guess we'll find out," Because she wanted to see how it felt to kiss him and because she figured somewhere Rebecca would kick her ass if she tried, she leaned back, "I don't have much hope for you though. These skinny legs kick like a school girl."

"Ouch," Leon rolled off the table, "Here I thought I was rockin the waif look."

"Nobody rocks the waif look. Nobody." She braced and beckoned to him with one finger, "What do you think? Show me whatcha got hotshot."

He was laughing as he rushed her.

They trained every day for hours and hours. They spent so much time together that it was a running joke around the hospital that they were joined at the hip. When she wasn't with him, she missed him. The harmless little crush turned into a big time crush. She craved his smile and had never worked harder to make someone laugh.

On the day he beat her on the mat, she bought him the case of scotch even as she winced at the cost. They shared a drink and then another. They'd been a little drunk before the night was over. And lord they'd laughed. At first, the laughter had felt like a betrayal to them both. Of course they shouldn't be laughing…somewhere Chris and Rebecca were trapped. But Chris..Chris loved to laugh. He lived for it. He'd kick her ass if she stopped laughing. And Rebecca…she loved Leon so much she'd die inside if she found out he'd stopped laughing. So they laughed and laughed good together. He'd passed out on the mat next to her…and she'd watched him sleep.

While he slept, she touched him. Just a little, she'd touched him. She figured Rebecca couldn't be too terribly pissed wherever she was because it was harmless to everyone but Jill. She touched his face and finally understood what Rebecca had been saying about the first time he'd slept beside her on that elevator.

Leon Kennedy, Jill thought softly, what a revelation you are. How have you been hiding yourself so well from women all these years? Why didn't you have girls chasing you down the street clamoring for your love?

She found him at all hours, at all seasons, at all situations pushing himself until it was nearly painful for her to even watch. He would run, jump, climb and train. The winter bled into spring and he trained in the rain, in the wind, while the cherry trees rained pink blossoms down and the animals all came out of hibernation to make babies.

They sat on the bench in the courtyard sharing a sandwich one day. He told her about his time in Raccoon City, she told him about hers. She talked about her family, her father who'd been a thief and a guest of the state so many times. He'd taught her to pick locks and watch her back. Leon told her about Jack Krauser and the mission that had finally turned the tide toward his betrayal.

He beat her again on the mat and she laughed.

The spring bled into summer and the heat didn't stop him. He pushed against the humidity, which was lower in Germany then in some places, and the oppressive summer sun. He could almost mount the makeshift climbing wall she'd had constructed for him in the courtyard.

They sat on the grass and talked about growing up in various places. He'd been east coast prep schools and snooty parties. She'd lived out of trailers and the back of vans when the old man was on the run from the law. Her mother had never been in the picture, gone before she'd even been old enough to know better. He her his mother was little more than a show piece on his father's arm. He'd been raised by nannies.

She started yearning for the thirty minutes at the end of each day when she rubbed him down on the recovery table. She was never, ever, ever inappropriate when she touched him. Rebecca was her friend, her buddy. But she couldn't stop the love that filled her throat. She couldn't stop it. But she hid it and coveted it like a secret drug.

The summer moved to fall and his hair was finally something to see. It was a couple of inches long now and starting to edge toward fashionable again. It was anyone's guess how long it would take for him to grow it back out completely. But it was getting there.

He put on a sweater over his running shorts and kept on going. He went against the heavy bag for hours. He asked for swords and she delivered. She found him in the courtyard, moving in ways she couldn't understand. When Yoko came upon her one day, they watched him from the hospital window together.

"He is something, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

Yoko smiled, "Most of the nurses are a little in love with him. Even though he's gruff and often grouchy."

"He won't stop."

"No. He appears to be a man possessed."

"He's playing with his swords today again I see."

Yoko lifted a brow, studying Jill for a moment. She turned back to watch the man in the courtyard. He'd put a good deal of his weight back on. He was still finely built, still building it back, but he was heavier now and putting it on in all the right places. He had, objectively, the nicest ass she'd ever seen.

She spoke, quietly, "What he is doing is now is called Eishin-ryu, it is a classic Japanese samurai fighting style. It is motion based. It involves fine, controlled movement and no wasted energy."

Jill blinked, impressed.

"Yes…see here? He moves into Hyoho Niten Ichi-ryu. This style's name translates to "Two Heavens, One School" and refers to the trademark stance of both swords held above the head to attack. The swords work together in harmony…" Down in the courtyard, Leon raised one sword until the blade blocked his face, the other he used to strike – fast and swift. "…one defends and the other attacks. He mixes the sword skills with kendo."

Jill lifted a brow.

Yoko smiled, indulging her, "It's martial arts with swords essentially. See?"

Leon executed a flurry of attacks while defending and using his legs and arms to sweep, disarm, and defeat his opponent. It was beautiful and looked a bit like very deadly dancing in a way.

"He practices iaido as well while using his swords. Which is a method of controlled movement that is meant to strike, clean and quick, and kill. No wasted effort. The various methods of martial arts that he uses is impressive. My mother was Japanese, clearly, and very immersed in the culture."

Jill watched him move, seeing him as Yoko must, this man who never quit, never slackened, never gave up. He was up to a hundred pushups the last time she'd checked on him and had started a wrestler work out in addition to strength training. She put her fingers on the glass of the window like she could touch him down there below.

"You'll need to tell him about his face, Yoko."

"I'm aware. You think he will react badly?"

Jill watched him move again. He had switched from the swords to bo staff. He was so smooth, so impressive, lithe and unbelievable. It spun in his hands fluidly and he used it like he was born to do it. The poor little straw dumby he had took a brutal beating while he assaulted it. "I don't honestly know. It will be a shock."

Yoko nodded. He used the staff to vault up the climbing wall. He grabbed the rope, dropped the staff, and hiked himself up. At the top, he spun through a series of kicks and flips. "He doesn't need to have a perfect face. Surely he knows that."

"Hard to say. He's always been the best looking guy around."

"Yes. That would be hard to say goodbye to. He is still the most handsome man around."

Jill wiggled her brows. "Just nurses with a crush huh?"

Yoko chuckled, shrugged. "He is something."

"You bet he is." Jill continued to stare out the window at him, "Kevin is coming today."

"Yes. I heard that."

"I think he has news."

"I am hopeful for you both that this is true."

"You should go talk to Leon, Yoko. He has to know."

Jill put aside the pangs of things in her heart that wanted to be there when he found out. It was something interesting to be in love with a man she couldn't have. She'd never been on the wrong end of unrequited love before. It was a shitty feeling. And yet she couldn't wait to feel that shitty feeling again.

She figured, somewhere, Rebecca had to understand. If she was going to hitch her wagon to Leon Kennedy, that was going to come with woman slobbering and sighing over him. She'd have to get used to it.

"Yes. I will do that now." Yoko moved away. She stopped by her office and changed first from her doctor clothes. Best to try to diffuse the situation before she destroyed it.

Down the courtyard, Leon pushed off at a nearly unstoppable run. He threw himself into a front handspring, front tuck and landed to roll into a perfect cartwheel. At the end of the cartwheel, he put himself into a handstand and lowered himself down. He did this ten times in a row to strengthen himself, his core, and his arms.

A month ago he couldn't do it without falling. Today he did it and added an extra five repetitions.

"You are coming along nicely, Mr. Kennedy."

Smoothly, he did a front roll out of the handstand and came to his feet. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face. She meant it, it was a handsome face.

"Thanks. I'm feeling strong actually."

"I can tell. How's the weight?"

He took a drink of water, rolled his shoulders to get the stiffness out. "Ok. I was in the one forties I think last I checked. A few more bratwursts and wienerschnitzel and I should be fat as a Christmas goose in no time. And we talked about calling me Leon."

"Of course," Yoko stuck her hands in her sweater, rocked a little on her feet, "Leon, you have to eat enough to make up for what you're burning."

"I'm aware of that."

"You're not eating enough."

He smiled a little at her, "Somebody's been tattling I see."

"It is the nurses job to tell me about your progress."

Leon sighed, shifted, "I'm ready to get the hell out of here, Yoko. Release me."

"You're not ready."

Leon made a sound of frustration. He lifted his hands up. "It's been seven months. SIX MONTHS. If I don't get the hell out of this hospital, I'm going to start killing someone. I have to find Rebecca. I HAVE TO. I can't fucking do that if I'm trapped in this chop house waiting for the all clear. I appreciate what you've done, I do. But you have to let me go."

"There are standards in place for a reason Leon. You aren't ready. Until you can do that, you aren't ready."

"Fuck your standards!" He turned, very fast, and launched a knife at the climbing wall. It should have flown straight there and struck, humming, like an arrow. It didn't. It flew, yes, but it fell and skidded along the ground. And after he'd worked out all morning and afternoon, hadn't eaten or rested, and pushed himself beyond his threshold, it did more than not making it to the wall…it ripped a gasp of pain from his arm to throw it.

He lifted an angry hand to his clavicle and rubbed at the stabbing pain there. It nearly doubled him over with the sharpness of it. It stole his breath. When he got it back, he cursed in three languages and crouched down to breathe.

"I rest my case." Yoko said quietly. "You are a remarkable man, Leon. You have come farther, faster in a short space of time then anyone I have ever seen. But there are limits to what you can do."

Leon breathed, feeling the stab of angry tears in his eyes mixed with pain. Fucking body. His fucking body was failing him. The fury of that failure was going to eat him alive.

"Leon," Yoko knelt beside him, calm and patient, "You are thirty nine years old. Your body is in incredible shape. Before this, you were in peak physical condition. I know this is frustrating as hell for you. It has to be. But you won't heal as fast based on your age alone at this point. The fact that you were, probably, in perfect shape before this is working to your advantage. The road to recovery isn't nearly as long as it would be for the rest of us. I will release you when you're ready. I promise. But I need to see your weight come up, I need to see your body fat percentage reach at least ten percent. I need to see you capable of doing all the things you plan to put yourself through before you leave here."

Leon was breathing hard and painfully. She put a hand on his arm and rubbed, gently. "We put your back together, Leon. And that is a miracle. A miracle that you survived. And that you can walk, talk, and tie your shoes let alone practice iaido. Do you understand that you died? TWICE?"

"Yeah. I got that part."

"Don't disregard the importance of what that means, Leon. I put you back together. Don't you dare think I'm going to let you go out there and get killed. You'll mess up all my hard work."

He held her gaze for a long moment before he snorted out a laugh. "Surgeons. All ego."

Yoko helped him rise and he even leaned on her a bit as she helped him to the bench on the far side of the courtyard. The fall leaves were scattered all around them, crisp, crunchy and in beautiful spills of various colors. She sat beside him, touched his knee.

"I think you're ready for what I need to tell you."

Leon tucked his hands into the big pocket of the hoodie he wore. "Shit. After that ominous tone, I hope I am."

Yoko removed a mirror from her pocket. "We don't keep mirrors here in the hospital in the patient rooms. Sometimes, after trauma, the patient looks altered. They are significantly changed from their former self. This can be a set back to some patients during the recovery process."

Leon was watching her face and he spoke softly. "What the fuck do I look like here, doc? You're scaring the shit out of me."

Yoko smiled a little and offered him the mirror.

He lifted it and looked.

He studied his reflection for a long moment. His hair was short as hell, which irked him. It had grown in all sunshiney blonde and happy. A little product would make it look halfway decent until it grew back out.

His face was still his face. Mostly. It was still his cheekbones, still his lips, still his eyebrows. They'd done a pretty good job actually keeping everything pretty close to its original blueprint. Objectively, he'd expected worse. There were some scars that were worth mentioning. There was one beside his mouth that hooked a little toward his chin. It was pink and maybe an inch long. There was one next to his left eye that said they'd had to open him up to fix his shattered cheek. His right eyebrow was now the proud owner of its own scar that cut up right through the middle. His nose had clearly been broken. It was a little crooked and seemed…longer or something. More witchy and less patrician? Hell, whatever. He didn't care.

The thing that stood out, very, very clearly, was his eyes.

Well..one of his eyes. The other eye…was not his.

He blinked, studying it. They'd tried to get it as close as possible clearly. But the eye was a shimmery misty green. It was not the husky blue of his other eye. His left eye was a stranger. It was hanging out in his body but it wasn't his.

It was a strange feeling.

"I lost my eye."

"You did." Yoko watched him, waiting, "We tried to save it but she'd…well…the damage was too intense."

"So, who's eye is this?"

"The donor is anonymous in cases like this. You needed an eye, they found you one. The healing went well obviously. Your vision is good?"

"Yeah. Great actually. It was slow to get there but I can see why now."

"Yes. The pathways all needed to connect after the implantation. As long as you take your meds, you shouldn't ever reject the donor eye. But you will need to keep up on visits to have it checked. Infection and secondary problems can occur."

"…fuck." He studied the eye. It watched him, a weirdo…a freak. It wasn't his eye. It was a strange feeling.

Yoko rose, "Sometimes transplant recipients need to talk to someone about the feeling of having a stranger's parts. Let me know if you need to."

She left him to quietly study himself.

All in all, it could have been way worse. He was too fucking skinny, that much was evident in his hollow face. And the hair…was pretty awful but it would grow back. He had a decent beard on his face that said he might want to shave. But it could have been a lot worse.

That eye though…totally weird.

Maybe he could rock the bicolored eyes though. Why not? If it was good enough for David Bowie, it was good enough for him. He rose, laid the mirror gently on the bench, and picked up his bostaff. It was something to worry about later…for now he had to go eat some more food. That skinny face was bugging the shit out of him.

More time passed as early fall became late fall. The harvest season brought about the good smell of shucked corn and fireplaces. The cooler weather brought people out to enjoy the changing leaves and the promise of the coming winter.

He kept pushing himself and that awful hair grew out a little more. He reached his goal weight on a Tuesday morning in late October. His body fat percentage finally hit ten percent. He could run ten miles now without dying. He was able to do pull ups without breaking down in misery. The thrown knife struck the climbing wall and hummed there, content to have found its home.

He was back to one handing his push ups when the mood struck. He could finally do one handed tree pose and wounded peacock again during yoga. He could even do scorpion pose for an extended period of time. Destroyer of the universe pose was giving him a run for his money but time was his friend in that one.

He was given access to the shooting range when he asked for it. And escorted there to be observed during the process. His targets all died their painful deaths just as planned. The weird stranger eye began to feel like just another piece of him after he initially spent three days staring at it.

He was in the courtyard, engaged in a particularly strong session of yoga and meditation, when a familiar voice drew his attention. "Leon Kennedy…as I live and breathe. You look redonkulus doing yoga."

He turned his head in warrior pose and caught sight of the man walking toward him. Kevin Ryman, former RPD cop, current F.B.I. golden boy, was walking toward him. Time had been good to Ryman it seemed. He was still handsome and smiling with a five o'clock shadow at ten a.m. His once dark hair was salt and pepper now and shorter than it had once been.

The ugly cop uniform had been exchanged for a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt beneath a faded leather bomber jacket in a good shade of cowhide brown. He was in good shape still, physically speaking. He'd always run big in the chest and shoulders, sorta like Chris Redfield, but the bureau had obviously insisted he keep it that way. He was muscular without being huge or obnoxious about it.

Leon shifted upright and walked toward him.

Kevin studied him as he moved. It was a surprise to see him without all the hair, true. But it had grown in enough that it had started to curl back of his forehead fashionably. Without the hair, Leon Kennedy was somehow even MORE handsome then he'd been with it. It showed the classical structure of his face to full advantage. The face was in good shape – a few scars here and there but at their age, who didn't have scars?

Kevin had one right in the center of his forehead from the fucking chicken pox when he'd been five years old. Kennedy had survived a brutal beating that should have killed him. That he was still handsome at all was a victory in itself.

They shook hands.

"I look awesome doing yoga. You're just jealous because you can't do it."

"True. Unless there are chicken wings at the end of downward dog, I ain't doin it."

Leon chuckled and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was wearing loose fitting sweats and a zip up jacket in pale green with a hood over a navy v-neck tshirt. The dude managed to make lazy look good. Kevin had to appreciate that.

"You're a goddamn phoenix man, I just want you to know that."

Leon shrugged, watching the other man closely. "They fixed me man. I just didn't die. Doesn't take a hero to do that."

"My ass it doesn't," Kevin watched him, looking for signs of anything strange or unusual. He seemed good. He was in nearly perfect physical shape again and seemed to be handling the stress of recovery well. "So, you know why I'm here right?"

Leon took a deep breath. "You found them."

"Maybe. MAYBE." Kevin lifted a hand to slow the roll before it even started, "We intercepted a transmission. It was brief, coded. It took Yoko a few days of old computer hacker skills to uncode it."

He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to the other man.

"It came in late one night on the secure line from the bureau to the hospital. Somebody knows you're here. And they knew we'd find the message and get it to you."

Leon opened the paper to read the decoded message.

It was only two words. Two tiny little words. But they nearly brought him to his knees in the courtyard.

Have. Faith.

His hand came up and wound around the cross that lay against his skin. He squeezed it, hard. Kevin saw the affect it had on him. He watched the spark of tears that touched his eyes, heard the sharp breath. He watched the hands clench, very aware of the struggle it took for the other man to hold it all together.

"Where?" Leon lifted his eyes. There was something on his face now that was hard, eager, and very determined. "From where?"

"We're still trying to figure that out. Somebody is good at hiding. The signal bounced off twelve damn servers before we caught it. This is good news?"

"Yeah…yeah." Leon moved, quickly now, "Find Jill and get her to me, quickly. Tell her…tell her to have faith. They're ALIVE."

Kevin found Jill coming in from a bit of storm outside. She took off the jaunty little hat she'd been wearing and surprised the hell out of him. She'd not only cut her hair off to the chin, she'd colored it. It was dark and silky and fine. It looked wonderful on her.

"Wow."

"Oh," She laughed, lifted a hand and shrugged, "Seemed like the right time to cut the blonde off. The blonde was Wesker, you know? It was time to get rid of it."

"Surely."

"You look good, Kev. I've missed you."

They embraced, happy to see each other. He told her the news. She was enthralled and they moved quickly together to Leon's room. He was packing his bag on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Jill asked as she entered the room. With his back to her, he stuffed socks into the duffel.

"It's time to get moving. I'm going to tug a few old lines with this intel and see if we can shake loose some answers." He turned and stopped, stared, and tilted his head. "Gorgeous."

"Yeah?" She grinned. "You think?"

She was gorgeous. Always had been. She was dressed in a burnt orange v-neck sweater that did wonderful things for her skin. Objectively, she was gorgeous. "Oh yeah. It's been a long time since I've seen that hair. Missed it?"

"Not nearly as much as I miss your hair."

He chuckled and skimmed a hand through the shortened tresses. "Makes two of us. You ready for this?"

"Never been more ready for anything in my life."

"Same." He turned back to finishing packing. He didn't see the look on her face but Kevin did. Kevin lifted a brow. So that was how the wind blew in this room. He couldn't blame her, honestly. Kennedy had that affect on girls.

But she had to know there was no hope for it. The guy was as untouchable as they came.

Jill saw him looking and gestured with her head. They moved into the hallway.

"Don't say anything."

"Jill…does he know?"

"NO. And he won't know. It's…it'll blow over. It's infatuation based on all this time we've been hanging out together. Rebecca is my friend. I don't poach my friends dudes. So it's a non-issue, ok?"

"If you say so."

"I do say so. Go find Yoko. We need to start gathering answers. I have a feeling things are about to change again."

She moved into the room. Kevin watched her go and sighed.

…

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017

"I sent it. I think they got it."

She and Chris were huddled together in a dark corner of the big, old, musty castle. They'd managed to play the game well over the months of their captivity. Things had…happened. There was no avoiding that. Some things more surprising then others.

But she'd told him to play along and they just might survive until they could escape.

He'd played, she'd played. They'd pretended to be good little captives.

In the beginning, Chris had emerged from whatever torture chamber Alesio took him too with fresh wounds and blood covering him. Eventually that had stopped. She didn't know what he'd given up to stay alive and wasn't sure she ever wanted to know. She knew only that Chris was constantly at Alesio's side like a …dog. Or a toy. And he was safer there than trying to fight the other man. It had cost him something to bow down, she knew it. They both knew it. But they had to STAY ALIVE.

Maria had tired of torturing her as well very quickly. Rebecca had moved quickly from captive to treasured guest. She enjoyed dinner with Wesker himself and was utilized in the research lab he'd set up to help with experimentation. She bided her time, she was quiet and respectful. She didn't make a fuss.

Things had…happened to make sure she behaved herself.

But now the time was right to try to make their escape. Enough was enough. If they didn't try soon, they'd be forced to help participate in the global destruction that Wesker was planning. She couldn't do it, Chris wouldn't do it. And now…now she couldn't die. She had more to live for than that.

So, she'd sent the transmission.

She just hoped it was intercepted by the right people.

She hoped he knew it meant it was time to fight back. He was coming, she knew it. SHE KNEW IT. They just had to survive until he got there.


	9. IX: Vicissitude and the Eclipse of Everything

+Author's note:

We get closer to the end of things here. There is, of course, a showdown that will come. There is a twist, a few turns, and an ending that may not be what we thought.

I can always see where the road takes me when I start. The question comes when I find myself walking that road. Which way does the story turn?

Only time will tell.

Slainte.

….

IX. Vicissitude and the Eclipse of Everything

ARTE ET MARTE

"Valor is stability, not of legs and arms, but of courage and the soul."

― Michel De Montaigne

::::::::::::::::::::::::NINE::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017

"It won't be long before he comes here, surely you know that."

Leaning on the desk in grand library of the castle, Albert Wesker studied the woman in front of him who'd spoken. The bitch in red, they called her, and she had well earned the title. She'd turned on him but she still lived. It was a rare occurrence and a fortunate one.

As Ada Wong held the keys to their impending success.

"Of course and right that he should. Although I admonished Maria for nearly killing him before. I expect he'll be here shortly. He can't help himself…heroes are often stupid and predictable." Wesker watched her pace in front of the big fireplace. She was a caged jungle cat, looking for an escape route that didn't involve her own destruction. She was as fascinating as they came in terms of humans. "We have his woman, after all."

Ada met his eyes, held them. "You have more then that."

"It would seem we do. Are you feeling sorry for him? The man who betrayed you. The man who chose a skinny little nothing over you? Surely not."

Ada said nothing, staring out the window now into the darkness beyond. "I may have been bitten by my own game. But that doesn't mean I won't win it."

"Are you in love with him?" The derision in that question, the mocking, it was so thick you could walk on it.

Again, Ada said nothing.

"And the plot thickens. To kill him now, you would be wounding yourself. The puppy has finally been let inside…a shame really that it is too late."

Ada watched the horizon. She knew he was close by. She could feel him. It wouldn't be long before she had to make a choice. Could she get him back? Was it too late for that now? If she couldn't, was she prepared to end his life?

Of course there was another choice but that one left a bad taste in her mouth now…especially now…the skinny little mouse had changed the game on her. She wasn't sure how to play it where everyone got out alive. It was inevitable that someone was going to die.

The question, of course, was who?

The only answer Ada Wong had was that it wasn't going to be her.

…

Wesker rolled his letter opener in his hands, studying the light that struck the blade and made it a prism. The long table in the dining room was the perfect place to relax. The plate on the table in front of him was heaped with piles of delicious food. The castle cook really was a wizard in the kitchen.

In the seat beside him, Maria Gomez was idly eating a grape. She was beautiful, as always, in a dress of shimmering green. Wesker preferred for women to dress as women, so her femininity suited him. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders in curls and set off the red of her eyes. She looked amused.

Admittedly, the show was something to see.

Dangling upside over the dining table, their guest was looking rather miserable. Who could blame them really? They were dangling upside down over a serving platter set to catch their blood. It wasn't a very coveted position to be in.

The other people at the table were less amused. Alesio looked bored. He was dressed in shirtsleeves and his sword harness. He picked at his teeth with a razor sharp knife. His booted feet were both carelessly kicked up on the table in front of him.

Standing against the far wall beside the fireplace, their sentinel for the evening looked a little concerned. He was in black this evening, which suited Wesker, but his expression was less impressive. He looked torn between his orders and helping the person dangling.

"Alesio…"

"Hmm?"

"Your toy is looking rather conflicted this evening."

Alesio turned his gaze to Chris. He studied him, "He will stay there. He has learned…well…the lessons I have taught him. He will not interfere. Unless he wishes to be instructed again…" Alesio lifted the whip from the floor beside him and ran it between his fingers playfully.

Against the wall, Chris stiffened and blanked his face.

"See? He is a good boy. My wolf…my bramoso wolf…perhaps he seeks to play with our guest before we are done with them?"

Wesker shrugged, bored. "Maria?"

She smiled and slapped the hanging person across the faced so hard it echoed through the room. The person dangling moaned, pitifully.

"Remove the gag, Maria. Let's see if our bird is ready to sing."

Maria ripped the tape from the mouth of their imperiled guest. Claire Redfield made some sound of pain as it was torn free. But even dangling, even circling deaths door, she was brave. She spit and the liquid trailed down Maria's face slowly.

Maria smiled, sweetly, "She is so pretty. All that red hair…like fire and blood."

Alesio grinned, "She has the spirit of her brother. The she wolf...do you taste as your brother does, little girl? If lick the salt of your tears, does it taste like defeat?"

Claire laughed a little, struggling where she was hanging. "Find out. Come on. I'll bite your nose off when you get close enough."

Maria giggled happily. "I want to see how brave she is when I remove some flesh. Albert?"

Wesker shifted, studying the dangling woman. "I think not. Not yet. But…" The letter opened was swift, too swift, it slashed down her right cheek. Claire gasped as blood spilled, wet and hot, it dripped onto the sterling silver plate that lay on the table beneath her.

"PIG!" She spat him too.

Maria shivered with excitement and dipped her finger in the blood, licking it.

Alesio shifted, dropping his feet to the floor, "Can we…bind her to the wall? Oh, can we? I want to see her struggle. She is so brave."

Wesker shrugged, nonchalant. "As long as she speaks, I don't care how she does it."

Maria hit a button and Claire dropped unceremoniously to the table in a heap. Alesio jerked her from the table to carry under his arm like a sack of grain. He unbound her hands and she let him. He shifted to her feet to do the same.

The moment her feet were free, she kicked him. She put her bare foot straight into his face in a stunning front kick. Alesio let it connect, amused by her, even as his head snapped back.

Claire didn't wait, she ran toward the door.

Maria caught her about the waist, spinning her around. Claire elbowed her in the throat and delivered a vicious head butt. It cracked painfully loud against the gentle sounds of the fireplace.

She burst into the foyer, racing for the main doors of the castle. The wrought iron rings in the door were heavy and difficult but she got the door open enough to slip through it onto the drawbridge that led off into the forest. She started running and that voice…that voice drew her short.

"Stop."

She froze, shivering, and turned back.

There was her brother. He had a gun trained on her. He looked so empty, like a shell, like a hollowed-out shell.

"Chris…come with me. Don't let them keep you. Please…we can come back for Rebecca…is she even alive in there? Is anyone?" Claire hurried toward him and froze again when he raised the gun higher on her face. "…what have they done to you?"

Chris answered, softly, "They set me free."

"Free from what?"

"Humanity."

"Chris…" Her eyes teared up, her heart hurt. "Come with me. I can still help you. Please."

She was inside his attack range now. He watched her, blank faced…and then he lowered the gun. She nodded, gently.

His left hand shot out and grabbed her around the throat. Claire gasped, stumbled. He squeezed hard enough to let her know he was serious about it. She let him drag her in against him. The same shade of blue eyes held; one frightened, one empty.

She whispered, "I'm sorry. I love you."

There was the loud pop of the gun going off. Trapped between their bodies it erupted in a muffled burst of noise. He jerked, blinked, and let go of her throat.

She had the pistol in her hands as she backed up, crying. "I love you! Why are you doing this? You stupid oaf! You idiot! You coward! You've let them kill you."

Chris clutched his stomach, staring in shock at the blood that pooled in his hand. He lifted his eyes to her and held out his hand filled with his own blood. "Claire?"

She shivered, weeping, "I should kill you."

He dropped to one knee, staring, staring at that blood. His gaze was very, very him and very serious as it lifted. "You should. Do it! Please. Do it. I don't want to hurt you…I don't know if I can stop if they make me. Please…"

"You bastard! You think I can kill my own brother!"

"YES! You can! I need you to. I can't help you…I can't help anyone. Please Claire…before they come out here."

Claire trained the gun on him. "Get up! Get up and run! Get up and run with me now! There's still time!"

From the doorway, Alesio spoke, "He's right of course. I will have him kill you. And maybe I'll have him rape you first. Do you think he would? Rape his own sister? Wouldn't that be a show?"

Maria shivered with delight.

Claire kept her eyes on her brother, kept the gun on him. "Get up, Chris. Please…" Her voice urged him, softly, "Please get up."

Maria started to step out of the door and Claire drilled the wood an inch from where her face peeped through. Inside the castle, she laughed with excitement.

Chris drew her attention again and there were tears on his face now. "Help me…help me up."

Claire started toward him, stopped, hesitated. He saw the indecision and desperate fear on her face…for him. She wasn't sure she could trust him. His heart broke from it and he hated himself. Slipping in his own blood, he climbed to his feet.

Claire took two stumbling steps back from him.

"If you run…Claire they'll find you. They'll kill you."

"They're going to do that anyway. I will not stand here and wait for them to catch me. They'll have you rape me!" The horror of it broke her voice, "My BROTHER! I WILL DIE BEFORE I LEFT THAT HAPPEN! How can you let them!? WHO ARE YOU!?"

Alesio's voice came happy and excited, "He is MINE NOW little girl! Can't you see that!?"

Claire whispered, saddened, "What did he do to you? Chris, what did he do to you?"

Chris shook his head, stumbled a little. It broke something inside of her to see him cry. Her brother, her hero, the only man she'd ever known to care what happened to her. The man who'd raised her after their parents had died. Her big brother. What had they done to him?

"What do you think I did!?" Hooted Alesio from inside the door, "I made him love the pain of the ride!"

It was as close as anyone had come to saying what she was afraid of, what she was desperately afraid had happened. The big, nasty, horrible Italian masochist had…"Did he rape you?" She whispered it, "Did he rape you?"

Inside the door, Alesio giggled like a girl. "Do you ask if I opened your brother like a flower and filled himself with myself? Oh, no! Not yet! I'm saving that for when he begs me to do it. For now…I just feast on the fear he feeds me and dip my fingers into the temptation of it. If you run, little girl, I will bind him to my bed and finish it. I will use him until he cries and begs me to stop. And then I will use him more."

Claire shuddered in disgust and fear. "Chris…come with me. Please."

Chris shoved his back against the door, snapping it closed on the laughter within. "Run."

"Chris…"

"Run! I can hold them here for awhile. I don't know how long. They keep…they keep shoving needles of shit into me and I can't stop it. I can't say no when they do it. Each time…it takes something more of me…it makes it harder to resist….Get help! Get anyone! There's a village about four kilometers south of here. Find someone, anyone and get out."

"NO! I won't leave you!"

"If you don't leave me…they'll get us both."

"No, no! We can make it together. Chris…I won't leave you!"

The door rattled and Chris shoved his full weight against it, holding it. "Find Jill, tell her…tell her where I am. She'll know what to do. He'll do it, Claire. He'll make me rape you…he'll make me kill you. Sometimes I can't even stop myself from what he asks me to do."

"What has he asked you to do?"

Chris met her eyes and shuddered, "Please. RUN!"

The decision was made for her as the door burst open. Alesio was the first out of it; he backhanded Chris across the face so hard that her brother was lifted and tossed. He went over the side of the drawbridge and disappeared into the water below.

"NO!"

Claire backed up, aiming the gun.

"That's enough," From the doorway, Wesker sighed dramatically, "No more of these games. Alesio, take her. Maria, find our fallen sentinel please. Torturing the girl won't work, we'll see if she starts talking if we torture the boy."

Claire fired the gun on the woman who advanced and didn't stop until she was lying on her back on the drawbridge, riddled with bullet holes. The pistol clicked empty. Claire didn't turn to run back to the village…she backed up to the edge of the drawbridge.

"Don't do it, Claire," Wesker admonished her, "We'll find you."

"Fuck you," She drove over the side and into the water beneath.

On the drawbridge, Alesio shivered. "So brave…sooooo brave. It runs in the family."

"Find them. Bring them to the torture room."

"What of Maria?"

Wesker glanced down at her, considered, "Leave her. She'll heal."

He turned back toward the castle. His eyes lifted to scan the ramparts and the parapets of stone. He needed the access codes to the Terra Save mainframe. He knew Claire had them. He needed them to get into the backlog of data and find out what they'd done with the data they'd buried on Terragrigia. Somewhere in all that data was what he needed to begin to make himself a god again.

The attempt to break in through normal channels was pointless. He kept running up against one stupid firewall after another. He'd tortured a few others with the intent of getting the information. Most had broken easily and pathetically. One died from a heart attack before he'd even begun the torture.

And then it had clicked…he was barking up the wrong proverbial tree.

He had the method for victory being bound and tortured a few feet away.

2 months prior …

He'd strode into the main gallery to fin Alesio hard at work on a masterpiece. Beneath the watchful eyes of the masters such as Rembrandt and Pollock and Da Vinci, beneath the judging beauty of Lesrel and Bierstadt, the encompassing vision of Matisse and Ross, a macabre and terrible tableau of pain and torture was present. Three bodies were strung and bound around him, most in various poses of death and torture. A female body, minus breasts, was bent double and bleeding onto a tarp on the floor. Her hips and buttocks were missing strips of flesh. The two male specimens around her were still alive but torn and broken. One had an open chest cavity, within the bleeding and raw cavity, his heart was visible while it beat. The other male had been gutted and was strung upside down to be half hidden by his own dangling intestines.

Wesker had known the moment he met Alesio all those years before that the man's talents would suit so many purposes. He just needed the freedom to explore his artistic vision. The town below the village was full of so many perfect, waiting canvases for that vision.

"This one is particularly haunting, Alesio."

Alesio turned, grinning behind the blood that covered his face. Like a happy puppy, he was constantly seeking the other man's approval. "Thank you, Albert. She screamed so beautifully while she died."

"Alesio, where is your toy?"

Alesio grinned, wider, "I had him play with her before he she died. He is a beautiful lover, Albert, really. He is masterful and sexual and free. She cried and screamed from the pain of it. She begged so pretty for him to stop. But he ripped her open and bled her and bred on her like a beast! It was…" Alesio shivered and quivered, "He did such a beautiful job I rewarded him. He is there."

Alesio gestured. "The effects of the drug wore off him while he rutted on her the second time. She was boneless by that point, of course, bleeding and merely a hole that he filled and found release atop. She was wounded and torn and broken. He panicked when he came back to himself covered in her blood and using her like a stallion to a mare. He fought me, fought himself, and well…you know he then tried to protect the girl he'd just broken. His self hatred was BELLISIMO! I let him rage and slap at me and fight. We danced together before I had to subdue him. I turned him over my knee and spanked him but that just made him more deliciously angry. So I had to…punish him. I killed her quickly to try to appease him but it angered him more. She was nothing by then, Albert, really! He had already taken her breasts and cut ribbons from her flesh. Why was he so mad to see her ended? She didn't even resist…the shock was on her and it ruined the fun."

Chris Redfield was bound to the wall across the room beside a lovely Van Gogh. His naked back and hips were striped red and bloody from the whip marks. Alesio had left him in a pair of boxers stained red with blood. He dangled in the bonds, clearly unconscious. Sometimes Alesio tended to get too excited in his playing.

"You will break him or kill him if you don't ease back, my old friend."

"Yes, you are so right. I know this. But his SPIRIT. It is so beautiful." Alesio moved over and slid a hand over the bloodied back, watching the ripple of muscle there, "He never cries out. Never. He is an Adonis. Thank you for him."

Wesker smiled, "Naturally. Would you?"

"Oh yes, of course." Alesio released the manacles and Chris fell in a heap to the floor. But he hadn't been unconscious at all, he'd just been waiting.

He sprang up like a thing possessed. Impressed, Wesker foot swept him. He went backward and Alesio caught him, cuddling him against his body. All that blood from his ruined back smeared red and pretty against Alesio's apron.

"Shhhh. You wonderful toy. Shhh…no fighting now. Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco." Taken literally, the saying was a bit confusing. Taken for it's deeper meaning, it basically said not all things will go as planned.

He struggled and Alesio held him still, binding his arms to his sides. He kissed the back of one delicate ear, "Shhh or I will punish you."

Chris went very still, breathing heavily.

"Yes. Better. Si. Such a strong boy."

Wesker studied him. "Where is your sister?"

Chris said nothing.

"Where…" Wesker slapped him with each word, "…is…" Slap. "…your…" slap. "….sister?"

Chris laughed hoarsely and spit blood in his face.

Alesio shivered with delight. "See? So strong."

Wesker wiped the blood from his cheek. "I see that. Alesio…go and get the girl. I will wait here with your toy."

"Maria has her working on the syndication of the progenitor virus."

"Yes. I'm sure she can take a little break."

Alesio nodded and released Chris. "You will be alright, Albert?"

Wesker laughed, highly amused. "Yes. Even in his peak, even at his prime….Chris Redfield was never a match for me. Broken, bleeding, pathetic…he is merely amusing."

Alesio nodded and left the gallery.

"Do I really need to torture the girl to get you to comply?" Wesker sounded bored with the idea. "I will but it leaves me tired. She is so much more useful then as a catalyst to get what I need from you."

Chris rose slowly. His sweat and blood dampened hair spilled into one eye. The look on his face wasn't broken. It wasn't anything but power and death and revenge. Wesker, as always, found that indomitable will impressive. The human spirit was an amazing thing.

"Has Alesio had you yet? He does love a good fucking."

Chris laughed again, softly. His voice was deep, gruff, but unwavering. "He can't get it up that way. I thought you knew. He's a eunuch."

Wesker lifted a brow, surprised. "Is that so? Well, no matter. He'll still fuck you in his own way. It's what he lives for."

"Why wait for him to get back? You want something from me?" Chris tilted his head, "Come and get it."

Wesker shrugged, amused. "Why not?" He checked his watch, "Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all I have to play with you."

Chris snorted and they circled each other. "That ended in my favor. Or maybe you've forgotten."

"That ended in my favor. Or maybe you've forgotten."

They clashed together; the bloodied warrior and the resurrected former god. They met in the center of the room in a flurry of grappling and snarling like two unpenned killer dogs. Wesker drove his shoulder into the other man's sternum and shoved him back. Chris took the hit and followed it up with a twist of his body and an elbow brought down on Wesker's back.

He caught his former captain around the neck and shoulders and dropped, trying to break his neck in a single move. Always impressed with his rigor, Wesker rolled out of the move and caught his arm, driving it up between his shoulder blades. He delivered a particularly amused kick to Chris' ass as he pushed him away.

Chris spun, breathing heavily.

"You are so weak. How do you see this ending? You the victor?"

"Maybe. Maybe it ends with me dead. Either sounds ok to me."

Wesker laughed and rushed him. He barely missed losing his head to a rather impressive clothesline and drove a kick into Chris' knee. The other man spilled forward and grabbed Wesker around the waist as he went. He used all that massive and impressive strength to yank him up, over, and throw him.

Wesker rolled into a somersault and slid out of it, watching the other man.

Maybe not so broken after all.

He rose, impressed.

Chris moved first this time. They traded blows in a handful of minutes where they boxed and moved like two champion fighters. An uppercut, deflected. A shoulder roll, reversed. There was a moment of locked frames and kicking feet. Chris Redfield had come a long way since they'd tangoed together in Africa.

No longer having the need to focus on just muscle, the man had explored areas of hand to hand combat that expanded his skill set. He wasn't built for martial arts but he was built for fighting. He foot swept Wesker and caught him as he fell. He didn't stop. He picked up the man who'd once trained him to fight into a fireman's carry and then dropped him. His knee hit the other man in the back and Chris felt him roll down his leg. He spun a back kick and hit him in the stomach, watching Wesker roll along the floor in a heap.

Wesker barely missed getting stomped to death as he caught the foot aimed at his chest and twisted, jerking. A short arm punch to the groin and Chris went down on the floor, curled around the pain. Wesker rolled him to his face on the floor and pulled his arm up behind his back.

To his surprise, Chris humped his broken body back and knocked him loose. He drove a reverse headbutt into the other man and spun, hyperextending his own left arm in the process. But it allowed him to deliver a powerful punch to the other man's face.

Wesker released, staggering back.

Chris bum rushed him and took him into the wall. The painting there rattled and fell to the floor in a clattering mess. Chris grabbed that black shirt and lifted, smashing the smaller man against the wall. Wesker drew his knees up and kicked his feet between them, forcing all the strength of his legs into his opponent.

Chris was shoved back and it allowed Wesker to drop one arm down and break the hold he had. A strong hook to the face, partially blocked, still gave him the leverage he needed to kick Chris clean in the chest. The blow stopped his heart for one terrible second and gave Wesker the advantage. He followed up the kick with a degrading slap to the face.

Chris grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. He drove his foot into the other man's knee and forced him down to the floor. They locked arms and both tried to put the other in a head lock for a handful of exchanges and blocks.

Finally, Chris grabbed his old boss by the shoulder and shoved his body into him. He threw him in a perfect hip toss. Wesker hit the wall and slid down it, dazed.

Chris grabbed one of Alesio's daggers from the table where his "artiist's tools" were kept. Wesker tilted his head, amused. He rose and gestured with one finger.

Chris braced, holding his ground.

"Ah…not always the idiot it seems. Shall I feed you that dagger, my old pupil?"

Alesio walked into the room and tossed Rebecca onto the ground between them, just like that. Chris glanced at her, flinched, and held his ground. "Get behind me."

She looked up at him and shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

She shook her head again and got to her feet. Chris looked at her and his eye widened in horror. "Oh my god."

"Yeah," She whispered, "That about sums it up."

Chris dropped the knife.

So, Chris had fallen in line after that. Just like that. He'd given up the fight. To protect Rebecca, he'd stopped fighting.

Predictable to say the least.

But now they were lost somewhere down below and the pain in the ass of the Redfield situation remained, a constant, nagging annoyance. He turned to the old man waiting inside the castle walls. "Release a few of the Ganado. I'm bored enough to want to see how they do against them. Tell them not to kill the girl…Redfield? He's expendable. Kennedy will show up eventually…Alesio can content himself with that for awhile."

Maria roused herself enough to sit up on the drawbridge. "Forget the Ganado, I will kill him. I have been waiting, Albert. You know that."

Wesker blinked and nodded, "So true, my dear. Then I leave you to it."

Down in the water, Claire was slapping her brother awake. He shifted and blinked. She slapped him, hard.

"Hey!"

"You son of a bitch! What has happened to you?"

"I had to. I had to. And then…they make you think you love it. And you just do it. You just do it."

"You bastard! You coward! You idiot! You fucking disgrace! You should have DIED before you let them turn you into this…this….Wesker clone!"

She slapped him again, harder and again, faster. He was kneeling there in front of her, bleeding, and soaked, and ALIVE. They'd told her he was dead. They'd said he was dead and lost. She'd mourned him, she'd grieved and died and cried and screamed. He wasn't dead…but he was close.

He'd let them take away what made him Chris Redfield. She would have preferred they kill him.

"Are you even still my brother at all!?"

"STOP HITTING ME! I mean it Claire! You still hit like you did in the third grade!"

He caught her hand and drug her down to him. She wrapped her arms around his big chest and sobbed, grabbing at his shirt and to hold him tighter. The sheer desperate love of it broke him. He clutched her fast and hard, jerking her into him until they couldn't even breathe. She'd always been so small and skinny. The little red haired girl with freckles and a lisp. He murmured her name and held her, feeling, for the first time in a long time, some semblance of home.

He'd kicked the asses of any kid who'd ever touched her. She'd come home from the hospital with his Mom and he'd thought she was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen…and then she'd smiled at him. He'd loved her fiercely, strongly, and massively ever since.

His parents death had nearly killed them both. She'd been so young, barely a teenager, and he was barely out of the academy. He'd scrounged and saved every dime to put her through college. She'd flipped her lid when he told her he was going to do it.

"Brains like yours kid, you're an idiot if you let them go to waste."

He'd taught her to shoot, to fight, to win. She'd come to Raccoon City to save him and gotten embroiled in the mess. She'd left stronger, faster, and tougher.

The little freckle faced girl with the lisp had turned into a beautiful woman. She'd never forgotten what he'd done. And she'd never loved a man good enough to compare to her big brother.

She sobbed brokenly against his chest, curling there like she'd done as a child when other kids had been mean to her. He let that love fill him and wash over him, cleansing the madness, the darkness, the rage and horror from his body like holy water. His baby sister had just put a bullet in him.

Jesus Christ.

He kept saying her name, over and over, stroking her hair now. Her sobs quieted and she drew back from him. She pressed a hand to his stomach. It wasn't too bad, she'd caught him in the muscle on the outside edge of his abdomen just above the hip. It was a flesh wound at best.

"You jumped in the fucking water."

She met his eyes and shrugged, "Someone taught me how to swim once upon a time."

"They're going to find us and kill us, Claire."

"So, what? Better then being their bitch boy." She helped him stand. "It never used to scare you so much to have the bad guys clamoring for your blood."

"It never used to taste good to drink beer or play with my dick either. Things change."

She put her head on his heavily muscled arm and loved him. His sense of humor had survived whatever they'd done to him. "What are you protecting in that castle? I can't see what could possibly worth what they've done to you."

He opened his mouth to tell her the secret he'd been keeping and Maria Gomez appeared from at the edge of the opening under the bridge where they stood. She had a whip in her hands and a scythe on her back with an ornate, jewel encrusted obsidian blade. She was smiling.

She slid the whip through her hands like a lover caressing the face of their most precious gift. "Do you know…Diego was my father. He was a gentle man..so very kind and wise. When Glenn brought him under his wing, he was so thrilled. He deserved better than to be a puppet who died in pieces...a pathetic waste. I have waited to see you cleaved in half drowing in your own blood."

Chris moved Claire behind him, slogging a little against the water and the wet land. She would only let him push her so far back. They both watched the woman at the mouth of the opening with trepidation.

"You stole my Diego, Mr. Redfield. I have been waiting for this moment for a long time."

"They sent you to kill me." He said it so calmly, so succinctly that Claire stared at him in surprise.

"Oh, yes. Albert will simply replace you with the pretty American agent when he comes. Of course, I beat him so badly that he was barely blood and bone when I was done. He may not be so pretty now."

Claire took a step around Chris. "You fucking cow! He's not dead. And he'll be here soon enough."

The whip came out, just like that. Claire ducked but it caught her as it flew anyway and knocked her aside and Chris was there, taking the force of it. It struck him across the chest and arm, it opened him up like ripe fruit. But he caught the end of it in his hand and jerked.

It came out of her hands and Gomez stumbled, smiling.

Bleeding, he rolled the whip in until it was in his hand. He snaked it against the ground with the sound and flurry of leather and death. It struck like an angry lover, slashing where it landed into the mud beside him.

"Alesio has taught you the pleasures of the hunt well, of course. I am glad. I wouldn't want this to be too easy." She pulled the scythe from her back and rolled it in her hands, "The obsidian blade is often hailed as too dull for slicing. I have found the dullness to work wonderfully well to its advantage. It will hurt as you die and you will die screaming."

She didn't race at them, she raced at the wall of the tunnel where they stood. She hit the wall and went up and around it like an insect. Claire scrambled out of the way she came down in a flying arch toward them.

The whip caught her across the chest as she flew and tossed her out and away. She hit the water and went under, bleeding. Chris grabbed Claire by the arm and pushed her.

"I said run before...I'm not asking now. I'm telling you. Get to the fucking town and get help. I can play their games. You can't. GO!"

Gomez burst from the water and the scythe came down between them, both of them diving off in opposite directions. The air split, whistling, and the ground rumbled from the force of the blow. Chris elbowed Maria clean in the face as she landed and he delivered a kick to her stomach, sending her staggering back.

Maria grabbed Claire to her and put her back to her front, shielding her. She hooked an arm around Claire's throat to anchor her there and circled Chris. "Now what? You silly man. I have your pequena Hermosa. What will you do now?"

Maria used her free hand fondle Claire's left breast. "She is so pretty. Bonita. She will be the screaming, bleeding, fighting thing for me."

The scythe lay on the ground close by. Chris eyed it and lifted his brows at her. "I'm going to give you one chance to take your hands off my sister."

Maria took this an invitation to put her hand over Claire's groin and rub. These fucking perverts. Why were all the bad guys perverts? Was there nothing better to do then cultivate rape fantasies when you were a bad guy? Somewhere between sadism and world domination you had perversion mixed with megalomania. Chris was betting there was some kind of psycho exam you had to pass to be a bad guy.

Claire had had enough. She drove her foot down into Maria's instep, threw back an elbow, grabbed the wrist that held her throat and jerked. Maria was strong but not well trained in hand to hand combat. Claire rolled under the arm and over rotated it, pushed it up behind Maria's shoulder blades and pushed her down on her face in the mud.

Chris had never felt prouder.

Maria surprised him. She scissors kicked his sister, hooked her legs around Claire's waist and yanked. Claire went up and over, thrown through the air to hit the wall of the tunnel and slide down it. Maria grabbed the scythe as she rolled to her feet, eyeing Chris.

Chris flicked the whip at her, hooking it around her ankles. She went backward into the water again. "GO CLAIRE!"

"Shut up, you fool! I'm not leaving you!"

Gomez came out the water again and Claire rushed her. She caught the scythe as Maria swung it up and they wrestled for it, Claire jerking and pulling, Gomez pushing and yelling. Chris dropped the whip and ran forward.

When they'd been kids, they'd played leapfrog. It involved leaping over each other while one crouched and the other pushed their hands on the back of the one in front, pushing themselves up and over. They'd played endlessly and in sometimes less than safe situations. He'd push her up and out and she'd flip and spin and fall into the pool. But they'd been pros at it after years of playing. It was about to be the best game they ever played.

Chris yelled, "Claire! Leapfrog!" And he dove, skidding across the mud on his stomach.

She leapt up and he slid under her. He pushed himself up sharply and Claire was tossed up in the air, still grappling with Gomez. The momentum spun her over the head of the other woman and gave her the power to rip the scythe from her hands as she flipped. Chris took the opportunity to grab Maria around the knees and jerk as Claire rolled, pulling her to her back on the muddy ground.

Gomez throat punched him hard enough to steal his breath and send him careening back against the wall of the tunnel. She kicked him clean in the chest and grabbed his hair, jerking him to his knees. Her free hand grabbed his throat and started pulling.

She was going to rip out his windpipe. "I will have your head. I will watch you bleed and die twitching. I will have my revenge."

He rolled his body to the side and brought his elbow down to break the hold. She slapped him hard across the face and grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm to his side. His free hand came up to grab at her vicious claw trying to rip out his throat. He gurgled, choking even as he felt the warmth of blood as her nails broke his skin and kept going.

"Diego died screaming. You will not get that chance."

"Neither will you, bitch!"

The scythe came across in a sweeping flash. It struck bone and skin and kept going. It stalled on the spinal chord and Claire had to rip it back out to try again. Maria released his throat and tried to raise her hand to her own. Her head was half hanging, half falling.

She bubbled a sound as blood spilled from her mouth.

Claire lifted the scythe to strike again and Maria straight arm punched her in the chest, sending the other woman tumbling backward into the mud. The scythe bounced across the water and sank into the depths. Maria struggled to rise, staggering.

Chris kicked her in the hip, spilling her back to one knee. He backhanded her and she fell sideways, trying to crawl away. She kicked him, hitting his knee and he went down behind her. He grabbed her as he fell, jerking her back against him.

"Diego died a pathetic piece of shit. There's a justice in the universe that will let you die the same damn way." He grabbed her chin in one hand and the back of her head in the other and jerked. Her neck broke in a loud, awful, cracking echo across the tunnel. She made some sound and collapsed into the mud, twitching.

Claire came out of the water with the scythe. "Move!"

He rolled away while his sister hefted the heavy weapon and brought it down, severing the head from the twisted and bloated neck completely. She hefted it again after the blood squirted and spurted like a faulty hose from the ragged wound. Chris took the head and put it under his boot.

He started stomping on it and couldn't seem to stop. Claire finally put a hand on his arm and they both looked down at the mess that had once been a face. He grabbed the scythe from her and started hacking at the body.

Claire turned away, unable to stomach it. But something had happened to him inside that castle. Something horrible and painful and wrong. She would let him have his vengeance.

He finally moved passed her and grabbed her hand, "Let's go. Let's go now. I'll take you down to the village. I'll get you help. I'll come back after."

"NO! You will NOT come back! They almost had you. I will not let them get you now or ever again!"

"I have to, Claire. I have to come back. I will not leave Rebecca here."

"Why!? I don't understand!"

The voice came from the mouth of the tunnel, horrified, angry, and loud. "What have you done!? MARIA!?"

Alesio hurried under the bridge toward the remains of the fallen Maria Gomez. Chris grabbed Claire while he knelt to examine the corpse. He gripped her arm and all but tossed her into a run in front of him. She didn't argue this time, she just started running.

They rushed from beneath the bridge, Chris hefting the scythe as they ran. At the edge of the embankment, he grabbed Claire by the back of her shirt and tossed her, one armed, halfway up the muddy climb. She reached the top and put her hand down to him.

He hesitated and she glared at him. "Come with me, now, or I won't go."

He grabbed her hand and she helped him up. Furious with her ultimatum, he followed her nonetheless across the embankment to the bridge. He boosted her up on it and hoisted himself up after her. The roar of Alesio spurred them into a full on run toward the other side.

When they hit the forest, Chris grabbed her arm and steered her into the trees. He pushed her forward, dragging her when she stumbled. The sounds of pursuit echoed around them close, closer, and finally Chris spun back with the scythe raised.

"You betray me! You murder Maria! You will be punished!"

"Maybe…but not by you, you son of a bitch!" He swung the scythe as Alesio grabbed him. It struck even as he was lifted off his feet by the bigger man. It imbedded across the chest and arm, spraying blood in a gory fountain. Alesio screamed.

"Who is screaming beautifully now!? Huh!? You fucking bastard!" Chris ripped it free as he jerked and Alesio backhanded him, sending him skidding across the ground. Claire grabbed at him, helping him stand.

Chris rushed forward, shouting his battle cry. The scythe screamed through the air as he swung it again this time like he was teeing off with a nine iron on a long par 4. It caught the big man in the belly and lifted him up while he screamed. Chris delivered a maddened kick to him as the scythe was ripped free again and Alesio went onto his back, spastically jerking and flopping like a landed fish.

He lifted the scythe over his head for the killing blow, covered from head to toe in blood and gore. The soft whistle was almost lost in the rage of the battle. Something bit his neck and stung. He lifted his hand and found the dart.

Claire cried out.

The world spun and shifted. The scythe came down as his arms dropped it. He staggered and fell to his face on the forest floor.

Claire raced to him and rolled him over. Alive…alive but tranqued. She grabbed the scythe and turned as Ada Wong dropped down from the tree above her. She landed, grace and dignity, on the forest floor.

"YOU BITCH!"

"So they say."

"I should have killed you in Raccoon City. I should have gutted you like the fucking lying whore that you are."

Ada eyed the other woman, judging her. Claire held the scythe like she knew what she was doing with it. "Put it down, Claire. They want you alive. They don't need Chris that way. You fight, they will kill him."

"How could you do it, Ada? Does it feel good to know you're the reason everyone around you is dying? Does it? You malicious harpy. I will dance on your grave the day you finally die."

"Put it down, Claire. Last chance."

Claire swung the scythe and Ada shot her, clean in the chest, with another dart. She stumbled, staggered, and collapsed to the ground on her face.

Alesio rose, reknitting even as he did. He moved over to Ada and looked down at Claire on the ground. "These siblings…I begin to wonder if they will be the death of us all."

Ada had begun to wonder if they would as well. "They do seem to be lacking the ability to know when they are beaten."

"Yes. Humans." Alesio picked up the Redfield's like they both weighed nothing. "Thank you for your assistance as always. I will inform Albert about Maria."

"There is no regeneration for her?"

"No. She was not made that way. Albert will not be happy."

Ada watched the sun dip low on the horizon. She felt the chill of the night air around her. "No….Albert will not be happy."

He wasn't happy. Not even a little bit. He was as close to mad as his cool cucumber routine would allowed him to be. He raged, he threw things, he knocked his plate of food from the table in a clatter and a shower of fingerling potatoes.

"How can two such stupid, pointless, useless humans defeat you!?"

Alesio looked embarrassed.

Ada said nothing.

Wesker grabbed Chris by the back of his shirt and his belt where he was sitting, bound at the table, and tossed him onto the dining room table. He slid across it like a bowling ball and skidded to a stop. Wesker mounted the table after him and kicked him over onto his back.

He grabbed the steak knife that been served with his dinner in one hand and Chris' throat in the other. Claire cried out in denial but Chris made no sound. Two pairs of blue eyes stared at each other. One set was filled with rage, the other a quiet strength.

Wesker drove the steak knife into his shoulder.

Claire screamed.

Chris jerked, grunted, and bled. But he remained still on the table even as the pain speared into his body and reverberated there. He watched Wesker with calm eyes.

Wesker jerked the blade clean in an arc of blood. He rolled to the floor and grabbed Claire by the front of her shirt, jerking her up from the chair. He shoved her down on the table with a loud crash of noise and clattering plates and glasses. He put the knife to her back between her shoulder blades.

"Which of you should I kill, hmm? I don't need you, Chris, but it seems I'm without another henchman at the moment. You took her from me. I think you should replace her."

Muffled against the table, Claire shouted, "NO!"

Wesker pushed her face against the table harder to silence her. "What do you say? It works so much better when you consent. The brain of the subject is conversely affected by struggling."

On the table, Chris laughed. "Is that a serious question? What the fuck do you think I say?"

"No?" Wesker queried, "Very well. Let's see if I can persuade you. Alesio, would you mind sitting him up? I want him to watch."

Alesio jerked him to a sitting position.

Wesker lifted the knife over Claire's back. She tensed, waiting for the stab. He didn't bother, he cut open the back of her shirt and ripped. He put the knife to her bra and cut it open. Claire made some sound on the table and Wesker raised her face enough to hear her.

"What was that?"

"You fucking pig!"

Wesker laughed a little and put the knife to her back. "Say no again, Chris. Let's hear it."

Claire struggled and Wesker put the blade into her, drawing blood. She stopped struggling. She said, quietly, "Don't you tell him yes. You tell him NO."

Chris said, calmly, "You heard her. No."

Wesker shrugged, amused, and took the knife to her pants instead. He cut her belt in half and split open the back of her jeans in a clean swipe. Her little pink panties winked at him beneath the denim.

Chris snarled, pulling against Alesio. "Take your hands off her, you bastard! I am going to rip off your head and shit down your neck!"

"Rape doesn't interest me, Chris. I find it tasteless and very crass. I think it's ridiculous the human emphasis that is put on sex and the penis. But it does stimulate the pathetic masses to make decisions quickly. It does motivate the motionless. It does make siblings bend to your will."

Alesio was clearly aroused for as much as a man could be that didn't have the right parts to partake in the subject at hand. He moaned a little in his throat in excitement. Against the far wall, Ada was motionless.

"I had a son once. You met him, I understand. So before I ascended, sex was something even my poor body required. I find it crass, yes, and tedious. But I'm willing to forego that feeling to get what I want. Submit, give me the information I want, and I will let you go."

Claire snorted, spit at him. "Fuck you!"

Wesker shrugged again, "And what about you, Chris? Hmm? Still say no to my offer?"

Chris said nothing.

"Ah! So he considers it finally. Claire, if you don't give me the information I want. I will rape you and I will have Alesio rape your brother. It seems Alesio can't do it the way he once could but there are other ways. I will then hang your brother over the table and slit his throat. I will use his blood to feed the dogs and I will give you to the Ganado. They are dumb, yes, but their bodies still have needs."

Claire made some sound of fear.

"Oh yes. They are harsh, stupid, and mindless. I found that they had raped and raped and pillaged like Vikings in Spain before Leon Kennedy showed up. They had no concerns. Male or female, it mattered not. They took and killed and fucked and fled. Mindless rutting beasts. It was, in a way, quite beautiful in its primal presentation. No emotions, just need." He split open her panties with the knife and bared her bottom to the room.

Chris made a sound like a wounded animal and Alesio slapped him, causing his vision to get spotty. His ear was ringing from it.

"So what say you, Redfields? Or should we finish this?"

He put his hand inside of Claire's pants. She flopped, jerking, and screamed when he touched her body. The panic and fear on her face killed something inside of him.

Wesker groped her, smiling and Chris didn't think he'd ever seen anything so evil in his life than the look on that face. He dropped the knife on the table, her humiliation complete, and put his other hand under her ruined shirt to seek out her breasts.

Chris shouted it, loud and furious, "Alright! Ok! You win! You win! Take your hands off of her!"

Claire cried out, "No! Chris, no! Please! I can handle it! Don't give him what he wants!"

Wesker held her down on the table with his hand over her hips. He eyed the other man. "You consent?"

"I consent, you fucking bastard." Chris spit it between his teeth, shaking with rage.

Wesker nodded. Alesio lifted him from the table and tossed him into the chair. Claire struggled, jerking, and crying now. "No! Chris!"

The door opened and the old man servant entered, head bowed, carrying a silver tray with syringes on it. Alesio pulled a syringe from the tray the old man servant offered him. He ripped open Chris' shirt with a scream of cloth.

Claire let out a sob of suppressed rage.

Chris said, loudly, "Leon Kennedy is coming, you stupid fucks. He'll be here soon enough with Jill. And they'll tear this place down around all of you and piss on the ashes."

"Do you think they will kill you too? Hmm? Your old partner and your sister's BFF. Will they kill you while they hunt us down?" Wesker chuckled. "Alesio, if you please."

Chris closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and braced for it. He said, "I love you, Claire. You know that."

"Please! Stop!" She wept copiously and uselessly with regret and pain. She whispered, "I love you…I love you…"

Alesio laughed, delighted, and drove the syringe into Chris' chest hard enough to rip a grunt from the other man. He hit the plunger while Claire screamed, wordlessly now, like a cornered animal. She stopped struggling, crying, as her brother began to spasm and jerk in the chair. He seized, flopping bonelessly, and went still.

The silence was loud and awful around them.

Wesker jerked Claire back by the hair, "One down. Now you…give me the access codes."

Claire hiccuped out a sob, shivering. "…fuck…you."

Shrugging, Wesker spun her around and tossed her onto the table. He grabbed her pants and yanked, exposing her to the room. Claire screamed, bucking and trying to roll away. He jerked her back to him and spread her legs obscenely. Her feet were still bound so it was even more degrading that way. He jerked her ruined top down her arms and let it dangle there, leaving her naked and open like some horrible platter of fear.

Alesio shivered with delight and ran his fingers playfully over the bleeding chest of her brother. It was, Ada concluded, probably one of the more disgusting things she'd ever witnessed. And enough was enough of it.

Ada stepped away from the wall. "Albert?"

He turned his head to her, one hand inches away from Claire Redfield's shaking, terrified groin, studying her.

"I can make her talk without you wasting yourself on her. Take her brother and mold him. Let me work on her."

Wesker held her gaze and a few seconds ticked passed. He let go of Claire with a smile.

"Ada…your path to redeeming yourself to me is clever and intriguing. I agree. I will let you work on this one. Rape bores me as it is." He stepped away and gestured, "Alesio, bring him. Let us take him to the ante-chamber to train him."

The snap of the closing door was broken by Claire's loud sobbing. She closed her legs and rolled on the table, flopping toward the side of it in her bonds. Ada moved toward her and picked up the knife Wesker had abandoned.

Claire kicked at her as she grabbed her ankles.

"Be still, you stupid twit," Ada cut her feet free, rolled her to belly and cut her hands. Naked, save for the rags still hanging on her body, Claire rolled from the table and took a fighting stance. Ada had to admit, for a naked thing with bouncing breasts, she managed to look dangerous.

"Give me the codes, Claire. You want to do that before he gets back."

"Fuck you, Ada. You bitch. I'm going to kill you and go get my brother back."

Ada tilted her head, amused now. "Are you? Naked? What a sight that will be. The Ganado in this castle will catch you and stuff your stupid twat full of cock so many times, they'll rip you apart before you even get through the foyer."

Claire braced as Ada rounded the table toward her. The other woman lifted a brow and walked right passed her. She jerked out a chair. "Sit. Think. Don't ruin the one chance you've got here to make a deal."

Ada pulled open the door and spoke quietly to someone outside the room. A few moments later, they returned with an armful of clothing. She tossed it to Claire.

"Cover yourself up. I detest men and their penchant for sex as a lever for success. They operate the world through their dicks like mindless rutting beasts."

Claire dressed, quickly. The clothes were too big and smelled awful. But at least she wasn't naked any more.

"Give me the codes and I will get you out of here."

Claire blinked and blinked again. "What?"

"Give me the codes and I will get you out of here."

"Why would you do that?"

Ada studied her and answered, quietly, "Leon is coming. We both know that. There are things in this castle that will guarantee he will not stop until he finds his absolution here."

"Rebecca?"

Ada shook her head. "She's just one piece of it. It's so much more than that now. I will show you what is here. You will give me the codes. And you will run. It's the last thing I can do for him."

"I don't understand…why would you help him? He chose another woman over you. You can't be handling that well."

"…no. I didn't. I seldom like to fail at my own game. But I overplayed my hand. I pushed too hard. And I lost. Normally I would just eliminate him and be done with it. But there are pieces in this chess game I didn't foresee. And I don't like using unwilling pawns."

Ada turned to her. "I will do what I can to make sure I clear the way for him when he comes. I will give him that. One last time. But I need those codes. I need Wesker to trust me again."

"And what about my brother? I won't let him die here."

"Your brother is made of stronger stuff than that. The syringe they gave him was filled with a drug that will leave him unable to do anything but obey their bidding. But it has a limit. And it has a time frame. I switched it for the virus Wesker had intended for him. He'll come out of it. And he will fight. We both know that. But there is something in this castle that needs taken from here. And I need you to take it with you and run."

"…how can I trust you?"

"You can't. But you can't afford to say no either. This is the only chance, Claire. For you, for your brother…for Leon."

Claire watched her face, considering. Such a beautiful, empty expression. What was her end game? What was her goal here? And what choice did Claire have but to play along? She was right, if she didn't agree, Wesker would return and rape her, torture her, and toss her to the Ganado. Dead, she'd be able to help no one.

She met those beautiful dark eyes and said, quietly, "Alright…I agree."

"Then come with me. You will understand everything once you see."


	10. X: Four Pieces and All that Lies Beneath

+Author's note:

Here we explore a little more of the ties that bind. We side step the action for a minute as we look a little further into the man who makes the story. He's a complex entity is our hero. He feels deeply, harshly, and from all sides. He has regrets and hopes and pressure from everyone and everything. He bleeds, he yearns, he aches and he remembers and holds close that which is dear to him. But, at the end of the day, he is also a man and so his thinking is that of a man. As we know, he has yet to acknowledge the big "l" that comes with what he feels. Only our most hated spy has ripped that word from his mouth, against his will.

Slainte.

….

X. Four Pieces and All that Lies Beneath

FAC FORTIA ET PATERE

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

― Stephen Chbosky

:::::::::::::::::::::::::TEN::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

Naked, he lay on his back, staring up into the darkness above him. He was, as he'd once been, splendid in the sheer scope of his beauty. His hands were stacked behind his head and the dark of the room cast the planes and angles of his body in shadow.

The ceiling fan turned quietly, sending tendrils of cool air across his exposed skin. The body was slim and exquisite with its contrast. The flutter of scars told the story of man who'd survived death and danced with the devil. Every muscle told the story of a man who'd climbed back from the brink of madness and made himself strong again. He was the warrior once more.

His eyes drifted closed on his tired mind. The spill of shadows over his skin teased at the promise of something more sensual, something darker and more obsessive. It seemed to hunger for more of him, it seemed to offer him something if he just let it take him and love him and hold him. He slid his hand over and flicked on the lamp.

The darkness fled, shrieking.

He fell asleep with the lights on.

Sometimes he had trouble remembering the time before the darkness had gotten his hooks into him. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have looked like…if he'd just turned back the way he'd come.

….

Raccoon City, 1998

Somewhere between the time he'd left the house and the time he'd left for the first day on the job, he'd stopped at a place called Rosemary's. Rosemary's was a small one room salon on the corner of west shit street and nowheresville. It was run by a woman who smelled of cigarettes and summer sunshine and scotch. It was a heady combination to a kid just fresh out of the police academy and looking to piss off his father.

The old man had his days where he was, at best, tolerable. Today had not been that day.

He'd pointed his finger at his second born son and declared, "You understand me Leon Scott Kennedy, you will rue the day you decided to try your hand at rebellion. This will bite you in the ass before it is done, you can make bank on that."

The oldest son, Leon's brother Tate, had followed the path of least resistance and headed off to law school to be another cog in the wheel. Leon, always the outcast and sometimes the nerd, had gotten tired of being the second rung on the ladder of legacy to his father, so he'd said "fuck it" to a life of convention and joined the police academy. At first, the old man had been irate.

But, after further reflection, he decided a son who was on the other side of the wheels of justice meant political success for the Kennedy name and so he'd gotten behind the idea. He'd made a few calls, greased a few palms, and lined up the perfect job for his second banana son to stream line his way to police chief and seal his fate forever as the legal finger in a bigger pie of justice that his father was trying to cultivate.

Leon was already on a very narrow tightrope with the old man to start with. He was a "god-damn hippie, tree hugging, free love endorsing, second amendment hating liberal" in a family of conservative republicans. He wasn't, he was all about the second amendment, but the rest was probably too. Leon was all about the free love.

He figured, why the fuck not? In a world where no girl had ever really sniffed around his dick, why not back the idea of free dick love for everyone? Somebody out there deserved to get laid man. If it wasn't him, it should be somebody.

He'd come down the stairs one morning, in his baggy academy sweatshirt and jeans, just prior to leaving for training, with his ponytail happily trailing down his neck and his father had nearly had a stroke. His son, HIS SON had girl hair. "Do you see this Muriel!?" He yelled at his wife, who at 8 a.m. was already on her second coffee cup liberally laced with Irish. "Your son is a god-damn hippie!"

Tate, his perfect brother, had been home from law school and sitting at the table in the palatial Virginia estate that always made Leon feel like he was walking through the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. Tate had all the looks in the Kennedy family. He was six foot two and muscular. He was dark haired and blue eyed and charming. Girls fell over themselves trying to get close to him. Tate was twenty four and already engaged to a girl with two last names like a proper Kennedy. She was ugly, skinny, and came from money as old as the hills.

Again, he was the golden boy.

Tate looked at him and laughed, "Relax Dad, seriously. He's rebelling. That's what the nerdy kids do after highschool."

Leon, all skinny legs and awkward angles, had hunkered down in his sweatshirt and scowled. He'd run out the front door as fast he could to meet up with his girlfriend. Maggie…MAGGIE. She was everything that mattered. And she loved his hair. Loved it.

They'd spent the afternoon before he left making holding each other. Such good kids, they didn't do more than closed mouth kissing and holding hands. They'd hug and lay together and snuggle. She'd wanted to go all the way of course that day. But he wanted to marry her first. She cupped his face and said, "You know your Daddy will never let you marry me."

She was right of course. She was poor and didn't have anything but his heart. It turned out that wasn't ever going to be enough for the Kennedy name. So, she'd broken his heart instead and ran away to leave him aching in the street.

He'd honestly thought he'd die from the pain of it. He'd gone into the academy the next day mourning her like she'd died. It pushed him harder and faster to do the job and thrive at it. The skinny little hippie went into the police academy and burst out of his cocoon. He'd gone in a child and come out a man.

The old man had nearly shit a brick when he told him he wasn't going to take the job he'd lined up. The call had come out across the radio while he'd been at the academy, Raccoon City – Umbrella's burgeoning baby, was seeking qualified police presence to help patrol and protect the city. The recent crime wave meant a stronger police force.

Here, he thought wildly, my chance to be the hero. My chance to prove I'm a man.

He'd taken the job.

His father went apoplectic. He went apeshit. He swore he would disown his younger son if he didn't decline the job. Looking back on it, Leon figured the old man probably knew something was rotten in Raccoon City. He had his fingers in more pies then a baker. He knew something was wrong.

And he'd let his son go anyway. The old man always knew how best to punish his children. He probably figured anyone who went against him, offspring included, deserved what they got.

So, he'd gone into Rosemary's to cut off the hippie hair and look more like a respectable police officer. He was in his R.P.D. uniform, nervous like a prom date, and utterly adorable. Rosemary had taken one look at him and said, "Nope. I'm not cutting all that beautiful hair off."

She'd given him the haircut. THE HAIRCUT. He'd stared at it, curious if he could rock it, and she'd said, "Honey…that face…you own this haircut. Don't have to go army short to prove you're a serious cop, darlin. Prove that through your actions, not your looks."

Rosemary was the wisest woman he'd ever met. She was also talkative and apparently a helluva hairstylist. But she also made him late on his first day on the job.

He'd eaten up the distance between her shop and the highway that led to the 109 into Raccoon City at a furious pace. His apartment was still filled with unopened boxes, he'd lost his keys twice that day trying to get moved in, and he'd spent twenty minutes trying to find his badge. It was a series of minor things that had resulted in being in a great deal of a hurry.

He whipped the Jeep onto the highway with a vengeance that was palpable. He shifted gears with a personal fury, completely unaware that he was the only car on the road. If he'd been less inclined to hurry, he'd have noticed it. If he'd have been listening to the radio and not a cassette tape, he'd have heard about it. If he'd have lost his keys and not been able to find them, he'd have been trapped in his apartment fifteen miles outside of Raccoon and he'd have never known what waited there.

He rocketed past the sign welcoming him to the city and straight into the worst night of his life. The woman in the road brought his Jeep to a rolling stop. He hesitated, curious, and glanced around while his radio blared Aerosmith at full volume. He adjusted the volume and idled in the street.

Seeing no hope for it, he climbed from the Jeep and moved to check on the woman lying there. She was on her face and twitching. Drunk? What? He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She turned, groaning, and she was as dead as anything he'd ever seen in his life. She was dead.

Dead? How was that even possible?

She took a lunge for his face and he panicked, falling back on his ass on the road. The dead woman crawled on top of him, moaning, bleeding and gurgling. So that was the first time Leon Kennedy had a woman on top of him moaning. It left something to be desired for what came next.

He shouted, grabbing her shoulders to push her away from him. She lunged, snapping her jaws at his throat. She had fish eyes, filmed and colorless. He heard the sounds of shuffling feet, heard the moaning, and started to see the faces in the darkness around him.

He felt the fear lance into his belly and steal his reason. He wanted to panic. He wanted to leap in his Jeep and drive way screaming like a girl. He pushed the snarling, chomping dead woman off of him and rolled to his feet. At least he'd been wise enough to grab his police issue Beretta from the Jeep before he'd climbed out.

He turned the gun on the advancing horde of people…no…not people. Not people. Dead people? No..zombies. ZOMBIES.

"Zombies?" It sounded very loud in the quiet darkness and sort of…squeaky. Faced with the undead for the first time, the great hero Leon Kennedy hadn't started kick boxing and whipping asses…oh no. He'd panicked, shouted, and squeaked in fear.

He backed down an alleyway, separated from his Jeep now by at least ten zombies. Panicked, he kept backing up, and didn't realized he'd backed right into another one. It grabbed him, moaning, and sunk its teeth into the leather strap of his shoulder holster. It saved him from a bite to the shoulder that would have killed him.

Proof, of course, that guns did indeed save lives. Somewhere, his father was thrilled. Leon was somewhat less amused. He stumbled and the zombie stayed on him trying to chew through his holster. He elbowed it in the stomach and it didn't give a shit, it kept on trying to eat him.

"Hey! Over here!" A voice shouted, drawing attention to it.

The zombie stopped chewing and looked up, Leon threw his body weight against it and shoved it off him. The voice yelled again, "Get down!"

He did, just like that. He ducked. A knife whistled by his ear as he dropped to one knee on the ground. He blinked, watching it spin, and it struck hilt deep into the forehead of the zombie. The thing was tossed back and hit the dumpster with a clang of metal.

A girl came running at him through the darkness. She grabbed his arm to help him stand. He blinked at her, still in shock. She grabbed the hilt of her knife, put a booted foot against the chest of the dead zombie, and jerked it clean. The moaning in the street was louder and closer.

She grabbed him by his breastplate and jerked at him. "Stop staring at me and RUN!"

He obeyed and they started running. She grabbed his hand and held it, leading him at a full run through the alleyway until they came out the other side. They raced across the street and were blocked by nearly a hundred shambling corpses.

"Holy fuck," She whispered it, glancing around.

Leon, finally figuring out how to use his brain again, gestured to a police cruiser not far away with its lights flashing. It was casting red and blue shadows all over the ground and the walls around it. They didn't hesitate, they hurried toward it. The person inside was missing but the keys were still in the ignition.

He leapt behind the wheel and cranked over the engine while the girl joined him in the passenger seat. He gunned it and they leapt forward, knocking down bodies like bowling pins. The cruiser jerked, bumped, and smooshed corpses with a nearly reckless glee.

Disgusted, Leon angled them toward the police station.

The silence in the cruiser was loud.

Finally, the girl spoke, "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield. I saw the uniform, I thought…well…I'm looking for my brother Chris. He works at the station. He's S.T.A.R.S."

Leon glanced at her in the semi-darkness. A pretty thing, she was young, he was betting barely out of highschool like him. Her hair was red and sleek, drawn back into a bouncy ponytail. She wore a red leather motorcycle jacket with cut off sleeves over a black skin tight t-shirt. The black biker shorts she wore were graced up top by tiny denim cutoff shorts. The cowboy boots she wore, in good buckskin brown, were old and looked soft and pettable.

He had to admit, she was a pretty bad ass chic for somebody who looked like a dirty boy's idea of a hells angel. She glanced at him, lifted a brow, and said, "Hey handsome, how about you focus on the road for me?"

Well that was embarrassing, he mused, focusing on the road as she'd asked. "I'm Leon Kennedy. I don't know your brother, I'm sorry. This is my first day on the job."

She blinked at him, blinked again, and laughed. "Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

"Helluva way to start a new job man. My condolences."

"Thanks. Any idea what's happening here?"

"No more than you. I talk to Chris three times a week. He's my touch stone. A week went by, nothing. Two weeks, nothing. So, I came looking. Because he always calls. ALWAYS."

"Where were you?"

"College. I go to Ruegar State."

"Ah."

"I hopped on my Harley and headed out here. I figured I'd find him dick deep in some girl, ya know? But not even close! This is nuts! But I can't leave without finding him."

Leon was quiet for a long moment. Claire glanced at him again. "I know what you're thinking…"

"I doubt that."

"I'm crazy right? He's dead. That's what you're thinking."

"No, I wasn't."

"It's ok. It seems crazy based on what we've seen. But he's alive. I know it. Chris is…he's….fuck it. He's just alive. I know ok? I know."

"I believe you." And he did. She was convincing. Her faith was unshakeable.

"Where'd you learn to use a knife like that?"

She smiled and there was something touching on her face. Leon felt a little sad that he'd never felt that close to his brother…or anyone in his family for that matter. "Chris. He taught me everything he knows. Our parents died…" She was silent for long time, gathering her thoughts, "They died in car crash. I was barely seventeen. Chris got custody of me, he fought for it. He was barely twenty one. But they gave him custody of me. So…he taught me everything he knew. He put me through college. I'm not leaving him here. If he's here, I'm going to find him."

That unshakeable faith had been the first time he'd come face to face with the power of love. It was something that had stayed with him as they crawled through the sewers, as they uncovered the truth, as they were sucked deeper into the quagmire of what Umbrella was doing under that city. Through it all, Claire's belief in her brother never wavered. It was her light, her strength, and what gave her hope.

He'd met Ada beneath the city and started following her like a dog. If he hadn't, he probably would have chased after Claire a little bit. She was something. He saw her bravery, her loyalty, her skills. She was smart and sassy and spent a good deal of time giving him a general good ribbing.

They'd turned down a hallway and come face to face with their first licker together. It had nearly gutted them before they'd put it down. Claire had finished it off with a clean shot to the head.

As it lay there, in a nasty pool of its own congealing blood, she'd said, "I generally like a long tongue too…I think I'm going to need to reevaluate my feelings on that."

He'd laughed, amused despite how awful things were. They'd moved into the S.T.A.R.S. office and rooted around, looking for anything that would point them toward her brother. He knew, the moment she'd sat in that cruiser and confessed her desire to save Chris, that he'd help her. It was the only thing he could do.

They'd found enough information in the office that it was easy to believe he'd been alive, very, very shortly before that. There was even some indication he was no longer in the city. But they were in it now, they were hip deep and sinking fast. They had to see it through.

They decided to look for other survivors. They came across Sherry, who fled at first sight of them, and they had to give chase to her. She'd disappeared into the air vent….and the first battle with the trench coat Mr. X had begun.

Ugly, sexless, frightening like a pale faced demon, Mr. X had come seeking the girl and found them instead. It had decided to kill them anyway. That's what it was made to do after all; kill. They'd fought it until it had scented the girl it was chasing and left them to recover themselves.

During the battle, Leon had been knocked into a wall and burst out the other side, sliding across the floor of the office he'd landed in until he hit the desk there and came to a stop. He was still learning how to breathe again, deciding if anything was broken, when Clarie had come running in. She'd knelt beside him and checked him for injuries.

"You sure are a clumsy guy, aren't you?"

Leon Kennedy, the man who could move circles around a hundred men, had started out as a wet behind the ears, awkward, bumbling rookie cop that couldn't even really throw a punch. He'd winced as she helped him up. And that was the first moment they'd have and both of them would wonder.

She'd turned her head to smile at him and he'd turned his to look at her. They'd held eyes. She'd glanced at his mouth, he'd glanced at hers. He'd rotated just a little toward her and she'd hooked a hand into his uniform. Oh, he thought blankly, derp.

She'd closed her eyes and leaned up. Ah, he thought, that's what she wanted. He'd leaned down and kissed her. Soft, gentle, smooth; it was possibly the sweetest kiss anyone had ever given him. They'd drawn apart, both blushing.

Claire had coughed a little and moved out from under his arm. "You ok to stand on your own?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah."

"Cool."

They looked at each other again. She took a step toward him, he opened his mouth to say something flirty and clever, or more than likely awful and corny, and the sound of Sherry in those vents had pulled their focus.

And that had been it, their first moment of interest in each other.

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

He'd thought of her countless times since that night together of course. And she'd become his closest friend in the world. If he'd have chased after her, pursued that kiss and left Ada alone…what a different man he'd have been.

But sometimes a kiss was just a kiss. And it had been so incredibly sweet and naïve. He missed her face, he thought as he lied there in the glow of his lamp, he missed her laugh. And she'd have known the right words to make him fight harder and faster.

All those years ago in Raccoon City, he'd picked the wrong girl. He knew that and had no regrets in one hand. Not falling in love with Claire had allowed him to have her in his life for the long run. They had made the right choice not to look again at each other that way.

Although they had. Of course they had. Who was he kidding?

Harvardville, 2005

The tent was quiet and dark, the girl seated there inside it was grieving. She'd found out the truth, that her attempts to save the world had probably cost it something. The airport…it had been over run…if they'd just gotten out of the way…the vaccine could have been administered and the infection controlled. Now…there was only death for those inside who had turned.

Claire put her hands to her face and wept.

He found her there inside the tent, the boy who had become the man. Almost a decade had passed since that first night together in Raccoon City but some things remained the same: the T-Virus was still trying to destroy the world, the bad guys were still trying to take it over, and he was still rocking that haircut he'd been given all those years ago.

Leon ducked inside, looking for her. He knew she'd be taking it hard.

He hesitated, seeing her crying, and wondered if he should leave her to her privacy.

She lifted her head and saw him, gesturing with one hand while she wiped her cheeks. She hiccuped, cutely, and smiled a little. "Sorry…moment of weakness. You try to do the right thing, ya know? And this happens."

He hesitated again, the iceman, the person they called when they wanted it done quick, quietly, and without remorse. He decided to go with his gut. "Claire…this is not your fault."

Tears filled her eyes again and she sniffled, "Yeah it is. You know it is. How could we be so wrong? You have the best intentions and you just…it all gets fucked up."

Leon studied her and shifted a little toward her, "Seven years ago you and I walked into a nightmare. We should have died there, Claire. But instead we walked out hell bent on making sure no one else ever had to live it. Umbrella got a nuke shoved up their ass that night. But the tentacles they unleashed continue to spread their viral legacy. You've done a helluva lot more than any one else I know to try to stop shit like this from happening."

Claire lifted her head to watch him, she rose wiping her cheeks with her hands.

"I got all these people killed, Leon. I have to live with that."

"No." His voice was harsh and deep and caused her to fall silent, "Umbrella killed these people. Umbrella killed them all. I'm going to scrub this virus from the face of the Earth. I do that through bullets and blood and you do it through finding a cure. You chose the role of protector and not fighter. You followed a path your brother and I can't."

She shook her head and turned away, denying the sympathy that he offered. She didn't want it. She didn't deserve it.

He caught her arms and spun around to face him. Surprised, she grabbed his jacket in her hands.

"Claire," Her face was wet with tears when he shook her a little, "You weren't wrong."

She met his eyes, the earnest look on his face, and whispered, "I don't know if I can keep going. All these people, Leon. All these people…."

Two tears slipped from her eyes and trembled there on her lashes before they fell, sliding over her damp cheeks. "How can I keep going? How can I look at myself in the mirror?"

"Facing yourself in the mirror is a part of this, Claire, the hardest part. But you shouldn't regret the battles you lose. You shouldn't. You can't win every one of them. You should only regret the ones you choose not to fight. You can't stop, if you do…that's the only time you should ever be ashamed to look at yourself in the mirror."

She scanned his face in the dim light of the tent, looking for what? For hope? For the answers?

No, he thought, she was looking for absolution.

"Leon, I don't know if I have your strength."

"Claire," His voice was gruff, harsh, and deep. Such a change from the voice of the boy she'd known, "You've always had twice my strength. How many times do you have to save my life before you realize that?"

She made some sound of regret, some sound of mourning. Later, he'd think it had to go the way it went, for both of them. And maybe it had been years in the making. Or maybe they both just needed to feel something but the cold, hard, hateful regret that flickered around the room like broken light bulb, winking and threatening to go out and leave them, broken, in the dark.

He knew only that he didn't want her to hurt anymore. And she knew only that she wanted to leech off his strength, his indomitable will, and his light for just a little while. She pulled at his jacket. He pulled at her arms.

His hands slid up from her arms to cup her face. She fisted her fingers into the cool leather of his jacket and clung. She made that sound again and kissed him.

Surprised, he froze for a moment before he could gather his thoughts. She had her eyes tightly closed and her cheeks were wet and pink from crying. Her hair was soft and red and pretty in the low lights around them.

And she made that sound again in her throat.

He echoed it, a sound of need, and his arms slid around her and pulled her hard against him. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other looped at her waist to draw her up to him. He lifted her off her feet to hold her against him.

She gasped a little and made a little moan. A tiny sound, small, but it put a fire in his blood that was nearly painful. He tasted the salt of her tears and stole that moan from her mouth with his. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him tighter to her.

Leon felt the warm brush of her tongue against the seam of his lips and let her inside. They both made a sound then, something like a hum from her, something like a groan from him. Of course there was no way for her to know what kind of fire she was fanning. How could she? The truth of that celibacy was his own dirty little secret.

What would she have said, he wondered, if she knew she was the first girl who'd ever had her tongue in his mouth?

He answered the thrust of her tongue tentatively at first, unsure of himself. The taste of her was insane. He wondered why he'd never tasted her before. But, of course, he knew that answer too. And it was always wearing red.

Claire Redfield tasted like lemonade on a hot summer day.

Claire made some sound and drew back a little to look at his face. The wonder on her face matched his. "Oh."

He was breathing heavily, looking at her.

She started to extract herself from him and he looked at her mouth again.

She felt the stirring in her belly and said, again, "Oh." She pulled him back down to her mouth. They kissed again, deeper this time. He explored her mouth, testing them both, and himself. They both were making noises as they kissed. She'd moan a little, he'd make some noise like he was starving for her.

She shifted her hands to rub inside of his jacket and touch the warm muscle of him. She'd always wondered what he was wearing under those clothes. She'd always wondered what he tasted like too. How could she not?

Leon Kennedy tasted like hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

They bumped against the wall of tent and Claire made another noise, this one nearly a keen. It nearly broke something in him to hear it. He finally understood the fire filled abyss that waited for him at the bottom of all the need he'd been straddling for years. You'd have to be dead not to be curious what Claire Redfield tasted like. He wasn't dead. He was very much alive.

He tested the bonds of his control and slid his hands down to cup her ass and pull her against him. She purred. She literally purred. Their mouths slid apart so they could both draw air.

She wasn't crying now, nope. She was breathing hard. She held his heavy lidded gaze and slid her hand over him. And that was the first time a woman had ever touched him there as well. She brushed her hand over him through his pants, a tease for them both. And a question. He knew she was asking for something.

Something big. She had no idea how big. She was so beautiful. She was soft but strong and sexy. He trusted her. Hell, he loved her. Had always loved her. It wasn't the kind of love he felt for -

No. He wouldn't let that bitch into his head. Not now.

He kissed Claire again, softer this time, smoother. Yes. He liked the taste of her. He wanted it to be her. He wanted it to be her that took him over the threshold. Wasn't it right that it should be her?

She kept one hand on his distended fly, rubbing at him. Her free hand jerked down the zipper of his jacket and she put her hand inside, rubbing over the smooth, wondrous texture of the moisture wicking shirt he wore.

He pulled at the buttons of the white over shirt she wore until it was open and she just had the thin material of the red long sleeved top beneath it. He pulled her against him so they could feel each other. She moaned, tight against him inside the circle of his jacket. Warm was about right, she thought, warm was what she wanted from him. Hot chocolate on a cold winter night. Something hot to chase away the chill of regret.

His heart hammering, he lifted a hand to cup it over her left breast over the thin layer of shirt she wore. Her breast fit perfectly in his hand. Again, they both made a sound of contentment to finally touch each other. She pulled at his shirt until she could get her hands on the naked skin of his back.

Leon kissed her now like he would die without the touch of her mouth. She murmured his name and drew back a little to look at him again in wonder. God lord, she thought desperately, she'd had no idea what was under the surface here. He was like a volcano, almost searing hot, he bled that greed on both of them and hers rose like a leviathan from the deepest, darkest, most desperate parts of nearly ten years of desire to answer it.

She skimmed her hands around his sides and felt the goosebumps that followed her. And then she touched his stomach. A sound came out of her mouth, a laugh that was muffled by his delving tongue.

She watched his face as he pulled away, his cheeks blushing and pink from desire. He blinked at her, trying to focus. "Funny?"

"No. Not funny. You're perfect. You are really perfect. Even your abs are fucking perfect."

"Sorry." The second the word came out, hoarse and hungry, she had to laugh again.

"Don't be sorry. Lord." She kissed him again, desperate for him.

Ok, he thought, ok. This was..she was…and he wanted to—

The noise from outside the tent sounded like people running. There was a booming litany of curses and someone was shouting about idiots and drums of flammable liquid. Oh my god…

He pulled away and she did at the same time. He set her back on her feet and turned away from her, putting his hands on his knees. He leaned over, breathing heavily.

Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, panting. "Wow."

Leon rose, closing his eyes to regain his composure. How could he forget where they were? THIS WAS A MISSION. He was literally in the middle of an assignment…and he was playing tonsil hockey with his best friend.

Claire pressed her other hand to her heaving bosom, feeling her racing heart. He turned to face her. She blinked at him. "Holy shit. The iceman, they call you. I think you're a big faker, Leon Kennedy. There's nothing cold in you."

He blinked at her and she smiled. She grinned. She rubbed her mouth with her fingers.

"What the fuck man. Where was that in Raccoon all those years ago?"

He stared at her, trying to find the words. He finally lifted his hands to zip his coat. She shook her head and moved to him. She grabbed his shirt and lifted it. Oh yeah, she thought, perfect. Every fucking ridge of muscle and every line…perfect.

"Leon…" She zipped his jacket for him now with a great deal of regret. She ground her forehead against the leather, groaning. "Do we need to talk about this?"

He finally answered, quietly, "No."

"Good." She nodded, breathed deeply, "Thank you for…taking my mind off…things…and for believing in me…" Her hand had a mind of its own and rubbed over the bulge in his pants one more time. He jerked like she'd bit him.

She backed off, hands raised. "Sorry. Sorry. But…maybe we should talk about this. Right? We should talk about…this. After? After right?"

He had no fucking idea what to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to take off her pants, spread herself across that desk in the corner and prepare herself for him. Part of him wanted to call her a cock tease for making him lose his mind. Part of him wanted to run away screaming. The man who'd faced things that no one alive had ever survived and he wanted to run away from what he felt for her. The image of him running like a coward from the tent from one skinny little girl was amusing and made him grin. Embarrassing. So, he said, "Yeah. Right. After. Not now. Now..is…mission. Now is mission time."

Her grin spread, delighted. "Yes. Now is mission time. And I am so glad I'm not the only one who has no clue how to talk right now. Leon, you're my best friend."

"Same."

"Let's just…ok. Now's not the time. Right. But let's just…I am kinda glad we did this."

Surprised, he blinked.

"I've always been curious. I have. And I'd…if you want…but maybe not." Frustrated she shook her head, "I don't think I want that to change. Do you?"

"Not at all." This part was true at least. He didn't want to stop being her friend. "I don't know."

"Ok. So maybe we don't…do this again. Unless…you want to?"

He raised both his brows at her. She backpedaled, adorably. "Right. Let's just say no and be done with it. Mission time. Right?"

"Right. Mission time."

And they'd done just that. They'd finished the mission. What was interesting about it was that they'd never spoken of it again. Besides, how did one ask his best friend on Earth to take his virginity? He figured it would make things insanely complicated if he even attempted to do that. And whatever else was true, Leon Kennedy tried to keep things as simple as possible.

And usually he failed miserably.

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

He had regrets for years about that night. At first, he regretted letting it mess with his head and distract him from what he'd been sent there to do. And after that, he'd regretted that he hadn't pushed her against the wall of that tent and fucked her until she couldn't stand.

Was he the last man on earth with any fucking morals? Most guys would have just done it and got over it. He was terrible with women, true, but he knew enough to know she'd have let him. It probably would have lasted eight seconds and ruined everything between them, yes, but she'd have let him.

When she'd been trapped on that island, facing off against the other Wesker, Leon had been ready to run after her and save her. But she'd saved herself. She'd awoken on a hospital stretcher, alive and breathing. The betrayal of her boss/boyfriend had been hard on her. The death of Moira Burton had nearly destroyed her. And he'd hurried into that hospital ready to pull her from the darkness.

But Claire…Claire was light. She was strength and courage and inner peace. She didn't tumble into the dark, she rebounded. She made a vow to avenge everyone she'd lost on that island. He'd loved her then, maybe more then he'd ever loved her before. The complexity of that love stayed with them both for nearly twenty years.

Best friends, a heady mix of confusion, trust, devotion and unrequited lust. It made him laugh thinking about her still. And he, again, thought about how much he missed her.

He turned his focus to the other woman in his life.

Jill.

Jill Valentine.

She'd become his saving grace. He wouldn't have survived without her. She'd pushed and pulled and pressed him toward recovery. She was a Valkyrie, a warrior goddess, a lantern in the darkness of his despair.

He wasn't a fool. Not entirely. He saw how she looked at him. And he wasn't dead. She was utterly and completely gorgeous. Neither of them would ever do a damn thing about it but he was man and he'd gone nearly a year now without the touch of a woman.

With the sense of a predator, he knew he could if he wanted to. He could touch her. He could put his hands all over the compact and curvy body that had rolled half naked with him on the mat a hundred times. His devotion to Rebecca aside, he wasn't a corpse. And you'd have to be not to think about Jill Valentine naked.

He bet she tasted like honeysuckle.

Thinking was harmless. It was human. It was what drove people to avoid mistakes. To make a proper decision, one had to endure the mental focus of the ramifications of those mistakes. Training and simple common sense told him that.

She'd entered his life a little too late and a little too complicated. The first time he'd met her, he'd had that very male, very real moment of wondering if she fucked as good as she fought. The sweaty, dirty, painful thoughts about her had been his private little torture chamber for a long time after that. Again, thinking was harmless. And without the release of a good roll in the hay, he was the equivalent of sexually frustrated teenager. He pretty much thought about nothing but bullets, blood, and fucking. It was the nature of being human.

Again, the timing was so amusing to him. If she'd have looked at him then, like she was looking at him now, what a different world they'd be playing in.

Terragrigia, 2003

The floating metropolis was the first of its kind. A beautiful aquapolis of natural resource and energy and function, Terragrigia was reliant entirely on the sun for its power. As the President toured the beautiful buildings and shared conversations with the ambassador, Leon S. Kennedy stood at his side like a good little lemming.

The lines of the buildings were sprawling, the architect for the town was brilliant. Hailed as masterpiece of commerce and environmentalism, it would fall prey to the hands of a terrorist organization within the year. People within the walls wound fall, burn, and turn - becoming variants of the Hunter series that had plagued Raccoon before the end. But here, on a beautiful May day when the sun was shining and the water blue, it was a marvel of modern development.

The BSAA had a station there, offering security and counterpoint operation control command data with the Federal Bioterrorism Commission. Their envoy, of course, had been Jill Valentine. She'd come out of the elevator in some excuse for a suit. The men with her had been unimportant at best. She shone like the feisty, firey, fantastic goddess of the hunt that she was.

Her reputation proceeded her. Amongst the small community of those who battled the threat of bioterrorism, she was formidable. Chris Redfield was the power behind the movement, without a doubt. But when Chris had fled Raccoon, Jill Valentine had stayed behind. She'd tried to rescue those left there in horror. She'd made a quiet name for herself amongst those that mattered as a knife in the dark. Chris Redfield roared his power from the rooftops, Jill Valentine whispered hers in the shadows. It made them an effective, reflective, and focused pair of fighters.

And she was supposed to be some kind of master with a set of lockpicks. There'd yet to be a door she couldn't open, a safe she couldn't crack, or an ass she couldn't kick. He just hadn't had any idea that she looked like she should be on the runway instead of on the battlefield.

The suit was understated and blue pinstriped. Her dark hair was curly around her shoulders. The suit showed those legs and that fabulous ass to near painful proportions. She'd spoken briefly with the President and caught him looking at her.

That was the moment they locked eyes for the first time. Did he realize that he stood out amongst the suited monkeys around him like a swan surrounded by chickens? One: he wasn't even bothering to a wear a suit. He was dressed in a long sleeved Armani colored shirt in good eggplant purple, a bold choice that said he had style ingrained in his bones, and a sexy little vest in rich brown leather. The shoulder holster that complimented it held a very big, very shiny Desert Eagle Magnum. The collar of the shirt was left open, the cuffs of the shirt loose, the Diesel jeans he wore over steel toed boots were deconstructed and complimented a look that walked a line between business and dressy. He wore a thigh holster with a side piece and little Oakley sunglasses in polarized orange. Two: he radiated carefully leashed energy like a living thing.

She tilted her head, watching him. "Do I have food on my face?"

He grinned, amused, and put out his hand. "I don't know that it would matter if you did. It's a helluva face."

"You had me thinking the same thing."

They shook hands, "It's crazy we haven't met before this. I'm Leon Kennedy."

He liked the surprise on her face and the interest. He liked the face and the body that went with it. And then she spoke again, and he liked the brains too.

"Well somebody left out pieces of the reports I read on you."

"How so?"

"Well clearly it didn't mention that you're a walking wet dream. Claire said you were handsome. Handsome. What a stupid word. She was just fucking with me, obviously."

Leon chuckled, flattered. "Well no one bothered to tell me you looked like a dirty schoolboys idea of a naughty librarian, so I think we're even."

Interested, Jill had studied him. The reports left out lots of things, it seemed. It left out the fact that he probably had the most fabulous ass she'd seen on a secret service agent…ever. It left out the fact that he was ungodly, ridiculously, hilarious. Chris had the best sense of humor she'd ever encountered on a man. They'd ribbed each other since the dawn of time like two frat buddies. But this guy, Kennedy, he had a dorky sense of humor that charmed even as it disarmed and made you want to tickle him to see if he looked as cute as you thought he would when he giggled.

They'd gotten a drink at the aquapolis bar that night together. They'd done so with other members of the organization. It was harmless and good fun. The suit she wore had been eased back when it lost the jacket and left her in a silky little white camisole over the pinstriped skirt. They'd played a few rousing hands of poker that she'd murdered him in. And he was fucking aces at poker.

With a cigarette struck, he watched her while she joked easily with the men around her. She didn't dwarf, she didn't get uptight. She was a guy with tits, fun, and fascinating. That was her power, hands down, that was it. She didn't woo you with sweet little looks and giggles; she drop kicked you in the heart with a spinning side kick.

Jill Valentine: ball breaker.

He discovered a few things about her. One: she could drink any man he'd ever met under the table. And did so with gusto, putting a few other people in group to shame. Two: she was as ballsy as a man with her opinions and had the filthy mouth of a sailor.

She tossed back another shot of whiskey and eyeballed him across the table, twirling a little eating dagger in her hand playfully. They way she did spoke volumes about her skill with that knife. No slouch, he knew she was hell on wheels in hand to hand combat.

Her eyes were very blue, perfectly outlined by tasteful black eyeliner, and set above a mouth that probably knew exactly how to rile a man up and also shut his ass down when it suited her. She cut right through the shit of polite conversation. "They call you the executioner."

She took the cigarette from his hands and took a long drag, watching him through a haze of inky smoke.

Leon shrugged, sipping his scotch. "They call you the surgeon."

Curious, Jill tilted her head at him. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning you cut out people's hearts for a living."

Jill laughed, highly amused. She nodded, "I think I like that. I tell you, you kill one person by cutting open their chest, and it haunts you forever."

"Stuff like that tends to, yeah."

"They say you killed a hundred men on an island in south American."

"They say you castrated a hundred in Raccoon City."

She twirled the knife in her hand, a little in love with him. "They say you talk out your ass and stick your foot in your mouth."

"They say you cut off a man's foot once and stuck it in his mouth."

"They say you are eunuch. That you never touch women."

"They say any man that touches you loses a hand."

Her grin was wolfish and happy. His was merely a smirk.

"They say you're gay. And only fuck men."

"They say you only fuck Chris Redfield."

Ah. He watched that arrow home. She grinned wider. "They lie."

"Yeah, they do. You fucking Chris Redfield?"

Jill Valentine laughed, delighted with him. "Why? You want him for yourself?"

His eyes flashed, impressed. "Not him. You? I'm thinkin about it."

Jill laughed again, loving the flirting. She offered her hand to him. "Show me what you got, Special Agent Kennedy."

He gave it to her. She pulled it close to her, kept her eyes on his, and shoved it down on the table. The fingers spread, wide open. He didn't flinch, not once, as she drove that little eating dagger between his fingers in a repetitive, continuous, mutinously fast rhythm.

She leaned a little closer to him until their noses were inches apart. "They don't lie about everything. You don't react like normal men, do you?"

Leon felt the grin spread over his mouth, he glanced at her mouth and back at her eyes, "I do sometimes."

She let go of his hand and leaned back in her chair. "I think I'm going to like you, Leon Kennedy."

"I tend to have that affect on women."

They spent the rest of the night dodging the line between inappropriate humor and heavy flirtation. They drank, laughed, and played a rather interesting game of darts. As the night wore on toward the witching hour, they ended up being the last two people in the bar.

And Jill Valentine proved she had the balls of a man. "What's the likelihood you want to come home with me?"

He looked at her long thighs in that suit, looked at her big, full breasts in that little camisole, looked at her mouth, and wanted to say yes. And because he was on assignment, because he figured a woman like Jill Valentine would probably not be impressed at all with a six second bang against a bar bathroom wall, and because he'd never so much as put his hand up a girl's skirt…he smiled slyly at her instead. "What's the likelihood you're offering because you're drunk?"

She contemplated that. "I'm pretty comfortable with a fifty fifty split on that one."

"I like my women operating at the one hundred percent mark."

"Dually noted," She studied him, "I think I like you. What's the likelihood we get to be friends?"

"I'm pretty comfortable with the one hundred percent mark."

She'd laughed and the moment had passed. They'd become pretty good friends after that. And always there was that harmless edge of flirtation when they saw each other.

….

Hoffnung, Germany 2017

So, there it was, four entirely different women carving up the four chambers of his heart. How much could one guy take? He laughed a little, amused, shook his head. "Women."

The edge of her flirtation had changed when he'd woken up in that hotel room. She was supportive and strong, guiding him and urging him. She still flirted but there was something else behind it now.

He was kinda afraid she was in love with him.

The timing on that was all kinds of bad. First and foremost, there was Rebeccca. Rebecca. The thing that had shaken his world up and left it a confusing, twisted mess. Ada was less messy than Rebecca. I love you, she told him, and there were no games, no lies, no agendas.

Her love was given, freely, and humbled him. The question tortured him, did he love her? Did he? She had pulled him back from the edge of his own destruction. She was beautiful and gentle and pure. Stop playing games, his mind demanded, stop avoiding.

Do you love her?

The answer was more complicated than that. He needed her. He needed her faith in him. It grounded him, gave him hope, and pushed him beyond his limits. It had driven him to fight harder, longer, faster. Combined with Jill's unflagging belief in his ability to recover, it had gotten him back on his feet every time he was knocked down.

The simple and complex truth was that he'd been running from love his whole life. The second son, the disgrace, the boy who'd disappointed more than inspired. He'd never been good enough. His father's lack of faith in him, it had robbed a boy of ever feeling good enough. So, he'd become the best thing on two legs in the world where he thrived.

The next time he'd been face to face with the old man, he'd been the best damn agent in the field. He'd saved the President's daughter, he'd saved the fucking world by extension. And the old man hadn't been impressed.

"You still have that fucking hippie hair."

He'd been thirty years old and still not good enough for his father. The old man was sipping port from a fancy glass and eyeing him like he was shit on the bottom of his shoe. "Tate is a Senator. He'll run for office before he's done. Your brother will BE the president. And my second born son is content to play nursemaid to the current one."

Leon lit a cigarette, flicking the ashes from it into one of the fussy stupid plants his father kept in his home office. He swirled the cognac in his highball glass without drinking it.

"That's classy, Leon. Muriel, can you believe this? Our son, a babysitter."

His mother, five glasses into a bottle of Chateu Lafitte, shrugged. "I'm more concerned that he isn't married. Why isn't he married, John?"

"Because he's a faggot," The old man snorted, "Isn't that right, Leon? You're too busy crossing swords with other man to marry a respectable girl and carry on the line. Tate's wife just had their third son. THREE. You're thirty years old. Don't you think it's time to stop playing hero and get married? Or are they right?"

Leon rose from where he was perched on the edge of the desk. He shook his head and laughed a little. "I'd rather be gay then marry some blithering fucking debutante you pushed at me. Look at your own marriage, Dad, and then judge me. I will never get married. Ever. Not if it means I have to wake up every day beside some woman I can't even stand."

"You'll do that just to spite me, you ungrateful spoiled brat."

"Oh yeah. Oh yeah. You can take that to the bank, old man. Count on it."

Thanksgiving at the Kennedy estate. Always such a joy. He'd spent the next one in a bar in Ibiza. He'd gone there deciding to toss his dick to the first willing women that came his way.

And then he'd pictured his parents. What a mess. What a disaster.

He'd drunk himself into a hole for three days instead.

He'd spent his whole life running from love. In a way, his love for Ada made perfect sense. The ungettable get, the bitch in red, the woman who would never give him anything real. She would never tie him down, never hold him back. She would never hitch her wagon to him and want him to marry her and make babies. He lamented his fate to the universe but he was the architect of his own misfortune.

He made sure no one got close enough to bring him happiness.

The risk was too great. So he'd chased the only woman he couldn't have. And he bemoaned his loneliness to the fates. Some therapist somewhere would make a fortune off him, that was for sure.

The spoiled ivy league brat with the daddy issues. He was a fucking Kelly Clarkson song. He was a joke. He'd stood face to face with armies of the undead, endless mutated monsters, and been alone, time and again, outgunned, out maneuvered and at the end of his life….and survived it. What was it that Rebecca had told him?

There was a reason he was here.

He just wished somebody would fucking show him what it was already.

Was it love?

He had four chambers in his heart and each was occupied by a woman. Each had a special little spot inside of him carved there out of a desire to love him. Well the fourth had a spot carved out trying to kill him but, hate her or not, she was in there.

Claire had snuck in as the girl who'd saved the boy. Jill had snuck in as the woman who'd picked him up when he was too broken to do it himself. Rebecca had snuck in as the only person to have ever looked under the armor and seen the man. And Ada…well she'd snuck in and curled right up in his self hatred and made a home out of his failure.

He couldn't get his daddy to love him and he'd spent a life time being everything opposite of what the old man wanted. His shitty parents. His terrible parents. Of course, there'd been no hope for Leon to marry and have his own family. What kind of father would he have been? A broken one, a mess, a heartless bastard that eroded the self esteem of that child until they were a mindless husk.

It was better that he'd stayed alone. He knew that.

….he lied. Even as he thought it. He knew he lied. Fear was the worst enemy he'd ever fought. It was the only one that had the power to defeat him. Because it lived inside of him. That was the worst predator of all. Could he just open his chest and rip out his heart?

It was too full. It couldn't hold any more. Surely.

And yet, he knew it could. It would.

Jill appeared in the doorway, spilled in light from the hallway.

He turned his head to look at her.

What was in him for her? This woman who'd pulled him from the threads of his own broken body and put him back together with glue and belief. What was this regret that edged around his mind for what might have been? The look on her face said she was lost in him.

What was in him for Claire? The girl who'd loved the boy and saved him. The girl who'd stood beside him as his best friend and never pushed for anything more. The girl who'd kissed him for the first time and made him realize the fire in his blood that was denied passion.

For Rebecca? The girl who'd brought him back from the darkness. The girl who'd forgiven him for being flawed and human and lost. Who'd opened him inside for the first time in his life to what he needed, what he wanted, what he felt. She'd opened the cage door to his heart. She'd kicked it down and left it vulnerable.

Was he capable of loving any of them? Really? Was he capable of loving anyone?

She spoke, softly, "We found them."

And the question of what he felt, what he wanted, didn't matter anymore. The time had come, it seemed, to play the hero once more. The time had come to put on his armor, to pick up his sword, and to be Leon Kennedy once more.


	11. XI: Revolver: Spin the Wheel

+Author's note:

So, this chapter was blood and guts and pain for me. It was the way things had to go. It's a good full circle for our hero. Is it the end? I don't know. It feels unfinished still. But that's how life is after all. The muses will tell me.

What a ride it's been so far. I'm in love with this story.

Is there a woman alive who isn't in love with Leon Kennedy?

Slainte.

….

XI. Revolver: Spin the Wheel

A Priori

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

::::::::::::::::::::::::ELEVEN::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017

"You're fucking insane."

The helicopter hovered, dangling the rappel lines down into the darkness of the castle beneath. The man who spoke was watching them with narrow, angry eyes. "I can't just drop you here."

Leon strapped the pully to his vest and tested the strength. "Sure, you can. The two of us can get in much smoother without a big show. I don't want a hundred guys storming that damn castle. You'll get everyone killed."

"Three of us," Said Kevin Ryman, "Three."

Leon met his eyes, held them. "You should stay behind. You aren't trained for this kind of thing."

"So? Figure even my old dumb ass can follow orders."

The constant whoosh of helicopter blades disturbed the silence inside the chopper. He finally shrugged and moved to check Jill's pulley. She said nothing, watching him. They were all in black fatigues, vests and camouflage with any available part as protected as they were going to get. They were outfitted with weapons and strapped for attack. They were hoping to sneak in, locate Chris and Rebecca, and sneak out but…of course nothing ever went as planned.

The helicopter pilot threw up his hands. "Ya'll are nuts but whatever. You get into a tight spot, radio for backup."

"Yup." Leon moved to secure his line to the pulley, "We know what we're doing. I've been going in undermanned, outgunned, and generally screwed forever. This won't be the last time."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

He met Jill's long look and nodded. "You bet. Let's do it."

Oh, she wanted to do it. She wanted to do lots of things. She let the little niggle of shame make her cough. Stop, her brain said, quit staring at him with big googoo eyes.

Leon went down the line from the chopper, smooth and fast. The movement was controlled and precise. He slid down with as little sound as possible. He landed on the cold cobblestone roof soundlessly and unhooked the pulley from his vest.

Jill and Kevin landed after him, soft and silent.

They knew the basic layout of the castle. A phone call to Alyssa Ashcroft had netted them the right person to get them blueprints and help them plan their attack. A direct assault had been nixed. They'd kill Chris and Rebecca the minute it was discovered. Stealth was their only hope here.

They moved across the roof of the castle, crossing the ramparts of the old guard towers. It was a massively sized, if slightly crumbling affair. The maintenance on it had slipped since Arias' death a few years before. Locating it had been easy. It was in his former wife's maiden name.

The guard tower offered a set of stone steps down into the bowels of the castle. The night breathed around them, cool and quiet. The fall was in full swing and the first smell of snow was kissing the air. It wouldn't be long before it started to turn to winter.

Leon went down the steps first, clearing the base of the stairs when he got there. The castle was…too empty. On high alert, they made their way across the grand foyer and it was eerily reminiscent of the Spencer Mansion. From the portrait hung beyond the dual staircase, to the formal dining room with the fireplace off to the left.

They hurried behind the grand stair case to find the stairs leading down into the dungeons. Again, there was no one. The place appeared to be abandoned.

They cleared the dungeons quickly. It was dank, dark, ominous…and deserted. Cells stood open and forlorn. Inside there was no sign of life or any residual suggestion that anyone, ever, had lived there.

At the top of the stairs again, they joined eyes in a semicircle.

"This stinks worse than a weeks worth of unwiped ass."

Leon nodded at Kevin's remark, very aware that it was a bad idea to keep looking. But what choice did they have? The answers were here somewhere.

"Could the intel have been wrong?" Jill queried, studying the hallway where they stood.

"Unlikely. The transmission came from here. No question."

"Ok. So we keep looking."

They moved up the small flight of steps to the door leading out into the gardens. The gardens were ornate, beautiful, and headed toward their initial stages of winter slumber. There was a large and beautiful fountain with three dancing nymphs spilling water from their hands. There was a series of twists and turns and tight corners.

And not a bad guy in sight.

The other side of the immense garden spilled them into a courtyard with large, looming, endless tower. Clearly this was where prisoners of importance had been kept back in the castle's prime. The courtyard was wide and beautiful, flanked on either side by trees with beautiful falling leaves. Lamps lit the walk way toward the tower, flickering in the cool night breeze and casting long shadows on the cobblestone path.

In the center of the courtyard, a sculpture of a warrior stood nearly twenty feet tall, in full armor and clearly meant to speak of justice and valor that the prisoner's in the tower were lacking. The giant statue gave them all the creeps as they moved toward. They hurried across the courtyard toward the tower.

The tower door opened and Alesio stepped out. Just like that, the trap was sprung.

Alesio wore a floppy little hat like the three musketeers might have worn in powder blue. He wore an expensive suit in the same shade. He had his katana on his back and a smile on his face.

"Oh I couldn't believe it! I did not! But it is true. You are here…and you have brought me another beefy toy to play with."

Kevin made some sound of disgust, "Did we fall into a time warp or something? What's this dude's get up supposed to do, inspire a fashion crisis?"

Jill aimed her pistol at him. "Where is he, you perverted sack of shit, where's Chris?"

"Oh!" Alesio gestured and out of the shadows beside the statue came Chris Redfield. "He's right here!"

Chris leaned on the statue, watching them. He was dressed in full combat gear, with his big knife strapped down his back. He watched them and his expression was empty.

Jill hurried toward him and Leon put his hand out, halting her. "Don't."

The warning was clear and very calm.

She stopped. "Chris…come with us. We've come to get you."

Chris said nothing.

Alesio smiled, "He has been my toy for so long. He is not yours anymore but mine. You didn't save him, little girl. You let him rot here. And I…loved him back to life."

Jill felt the wet ball of dread in her belly. She lowered her gun and took a step toward Chris. Leon held her back again, shaking his head. "We couldn't find you. We tried. We came as soon as we knew. I'm so sorry."

Again, Chris said nothing and his face showed the same.

Alesio gestured, "Chris…show them what I taught you. Show them the power of pain."

Chris drew the big knife down his back. Jill shook her head and shook it again. "He won't hurt me."

"Jill…" Kevin stepped up beside her, "That's not him. Look at him. He's not in there."

Kevin lifted his gun and Jill slapped it down. "NO! Don't you dare!" She holstered her own weapon. "You two take care of the big guy….I can handle Chris."

Leon watched her face, waited, and finally nodded.

She had to do this. It was the only way she could finish the story her way. It would end how it would end.

Leon turned back to Alesio. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

"Look at you, little American agent. You are not so pretty now. Did Maria destroy your pretty face? She took all your pretty hair as well. I guess you have been broken after all."

Leon drew the katana off his back and the wakizashi from beside him. He watched the other man, considering. "Not yet. Why don't you come see how broken I am?"

Alesio drew his sword, twirling it with a whistle of blade and wind. "Will we dance as before, pretty samurai? Will you sing so pretty as you bleed so red?"

"Only one way to find out."

Alesio rushed him, inhumanly fast. He swung the blade toward him and Kevin fired the shotgun, once, twice, three times. It blasted him in the face, in the chest, in the stomach. Alesio staggered, surprised, and Leon brought both blades down against him.

The found flesh and bit through, hit bone and kept on going. Leon split him into three pieces that hesitated, held and finally slid apart. Alesio stared, wide eyed, and sprayed blood like a geyser. It pumped out in squirts and madness, staining the ground red beneath him as he fell to his knees. Kevin unloaded another round in his gushing body as he fell backward on the ground.

"…this guy kicked your ass before?" Kevin seemed surprised as they watched Alesio's body bleed and twitch on the ground.

"Yeah. He probably didn't think you'd shoot him."

"How fucking stupid is that?"

"Pretty fucking stupid."

Kevin and Leon locked eyes and both of their faces said the same thing: that had been too easy. This was not right. Something was terribly, horribly, desperately wrong here. They turned in tandem and Jill was on her knees.

Chris had his hand around her throat, choking her.

"Hey!" Kevin hoisted the shotgun. "Let her go, you fucking asshole!"

Chris lifted his head, twitched. Jill seized the opportunity. She pushed up under his arm and broke his hold and grabbed his wrist before she rolled back, drove her feet into his stomach, and pushed. She tossed him, fast and perfect.

Chris flew through the air and came down on his back, writhing from the pain of it.

Kevin put the shotgun to his face. "Stay down, big guy. Do us both a favor."

Chris was breathing heavily, watching them. He twitched but said nothing. There was a wet gurgle of sound. It was like bubbling breath beneath the water.

Leon and Jill turned toward it.

Alesio's body was reknitting so fast it was like watching a fast-forwarded movie but where it reknit, it burst with mutation. The bubbling and breeding of flesh and bone turned into a grotesque and grimacing monster. Kevin swung the shotgun toward it, Chris kicked him in the stomach, and Jill kicked Chris in the balls.

Kevin got the shot off and it smashed into that growing, writhing, horrible mass that still somehow on that macabre freak show, managed to look like Alesio. Leon rushed it, smooth and fast, the blades bit and swirled, sliced and diced. It burst with blood and screamed but it just kept getting bigger.

A tentacle flew out of its back and smashed into him. It tossed him up and out. He lost his swords in flight and came down in a heap of pain and speed. No time to reflect on it, Leon rolled and the tentacle smashed into the ground where he'd been.

Jill jerked him to his feet, pulling him into step behind her. She took a brutal slash at the waving tentacle and split it open in a gush of blood and black goop. It waved madly, furious. Chris was on his knees and trying to choke Kevin to death.

Leon spun a back kick into Chris' side and kicked him again in the stomach. Kevin rolled away, gasping. "Fucker! God damn giant muscles."

Alesio was now about fifteen feet tall and made of a mass of gross, bubbles, exposed muscle and tentacles. To try to define the horror of it was like trying to define a nightmare. It was, simply, horrifying and getting bigger.

It looked one tentacle around Leon, one around Kevin, it grabbed Jill with a third and brought them all crashing together above it. There were shouts and grunts of pain. It separated them, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter. It smacked them back together with a crash of skin and pain. They were either going to die crushed to death or smooshed together. What a way to go.

"I told you I wasn't going to leave you guys. It's a good god damn thing I didn't either. You can say you're welcome later." The voice of the pilot was loud in their headsets. The whoosh of the RPG was even louder. It zipped by in a burst of sound and light and smashed into the monster that was trying to turn them into silly putty.

The explosion was massive and awesome and gross. The thing that had been Alesio screamed as it was blown into pieces, chunks, and flopping, sizzling, acid like goop. It exploded like a burst water balloon, splattering everything it touched as it did, covering them in filth, muck, and stench. They all tumbled down, hit, rolled, crawled and tried to take cover. But it was hard to take cover from massive, disgusting, all encompassing putrid rot, death, and rain.

"Get some cover!"

They scrambled, ducking and running and the choppers guns started rattling off loud, sparking, constant rounds. It blasted the smoking pieces of the still screaming monster, turning them into smears on the grass. In the midst of the madness, Chris grabbed Leon and jerked him up to his feet.

Face to face, they eyed each other.

"What did they do to you?" Leon whispered, his voice nearly lost to the rapid thunder of constant gun fire.

Chris lifted him off his feet by his vest, shaking him like a dog with a bone. Leon kicked him in the groin. Poor Chris, his nuts were going to fall off from such continuous abuse. He followed up the blow to the groin with a kick to the knee. Chris went down on all fours.

Jill was there now, grabbing him and binding his hands behind his back. They cuffed him and dropped him to his face in the dirt. The whirling motor of the guns above them came to an end and the ensuing silence was nearly painful.

But there was nothing left of Alesio now but a few steaming streams of smoke and blood stains on the grass. The pilot said, "You're welcome, you idiots."

And the chopper lifted up into the air again.

Leon kinda liked that angry pilot.

Jill sat on Chris' back, holding him down. He grunted and snarled. They all stood and leaned and panted for a long moment. Finally, Jill spoke, "There had better be a cure for the man under my ass right now. I will not kill him."

Chris finally went still, breathing hard.

"Thank you," Jill remarked, "I was tired of the rodeo. I usually have a man buy me a drink first before I let him buck beneath me so hard."

Kevin chuckled.

They all looked…awful. Dirty, nasty, soaked in goop and slime and shit. Jill had a blob of something gross and jiggling on her head. Leon looked like he'd gotten a cumshot of blood delivered dead center to his face. Kevin smelled like an old man's ass.

It was a pretty gross trio of hapless heroes.

Jill looked at Leon, "So what now?"

He glanced at the tower. "Now we go up."

Jill sighed, "I was afraid you were going to say that. But maybe Kevin should wait here with Chris."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm going to get the pilot to evac him. He can't be left alone while he waits though."

"Why me though?"

"Because Kev, honestly. You're in good shape but not Wesker good. Last time, Leon and I barely even survived it. He'll wipe the floor with you."

Kevin blinked at her, offended. "Well…that smarts a little."

On the ground, Chris finally spoke, "Get off of me."

"No." Jill bounced on his back to emphasize her point. "Stay down or I'll hurt you."

"Your ass is already hurting me. It's bony."

She blinked. Kevin blinked. Leon blinked.

Finally, she said, "It is NOT bony. It's fabulous."

Muffled, Chris retorted, "Tyra Banks has a fabulous ass. Yours is white girl skinny."

Jill laughed, loudly, and rolled him over. She hugged his bound body to her. He grunted again and sniffed. His face collapsed into lines of disgust. "Woman, let go of me right now. You smell worse than shit, piss, and three day old cum. Seriously."

She didn't let go but she laughed again. "I don't care, you stupid pig. I don't care. I thought you were dead."

She kissed his face and made him cringe. "No more. Please. I beg of you. Uncuff me."

No one moved.

"Seriously…uncuff me."

Jill shook her head and stepped back from him. "Jill, what the fuck?"

"No. Sorry Chris. But think about it. We have no clue what you could do if we did that. I don't want to risk it."

Chris sighed, "I'm fine. Seriously. I don't even feel anything like before. I have completely control of my body. I swear."

From within the tower, Albert Wesker emerged.

Chris said, a little more desperately, "Jill…let me go. NOW."

Jill stepped in front of him. She protected him with her lithe body. He was aware of it. Kevin and Leon were aware of it. That was love right there. And it was kinda beautiful. "I wondered where your Benedict Arnold ass was. Figure you for the type of coward that shows up when the cavalry is dead."

"I would suggest we stop this showdown before it starts. Drop your weapons."

Surely he was joking.

"If you don't, I will have Ada Wong killed Rebecca. She is on the top floor of this tower, right now, holding the little scientist hostage."

Leon lowered his gun. Kevin did the same.

Jill shot Albert Wesker in the stomach. He stumbled, teetered on the stairs of the tower and fell off, hitting the ground in a heap. The twenty or so Ganado that were ranged around him looked terribly confused about what to do next.

Shocked, everyone stared at her.

She turned to Leon, "Go. Get Rebecca. I will hold him here." She knelt and uncuffed Chris. "Betray me again, I will shoot you in the dick."

Chris rose and Kevin handed him the shotgun. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Let's finish this."

Kevin said, "You heard her Kennedy." Kevin handed him the katana, hilt first, "Get the hell out of here. Go save the girl."

Leon nodded, nodded again, and started running. He broke through the gathered Ganado flanked by cover fire from his comrades. When there should have been one to block him, a head would explode. When there was a fist, there was a shot to the shoulder that spun it away. The best in the business had his back.

It was time to go it alone.

He burst into the tower at a full run. The stairs curled in circles up to the very top. The staircase was narrow, claustrophobic and dark. He drove a kick when they came around the corners to fight him. He put a bullet in a knee and jerked, throwing them behind him. When the stairs narrowed, he pulled the sword and kept going.

He spitted two together on the blade and ripped the blade clean, kicking them back as they fell in a burst of blood. Where there were faces, he lunged. Where there bodies, he struck. He reached the top of the stairs, panting, covered in blood.

The roof of the tower was a large circle and high enough in the sky that the wind was a desperate, shoving thing. Lightning snaked across the sky, the perfect backdrop to what was waiting there. The first spatter of rain hit his face as he moved, slowly.

"Drop it please."

Ada held Rebecca against her, the gun to her temple. She was frightened but unharmed. She was softer, fuller, more beautiful than he'd been able to remember. The sight of her nearly broke him at the same time it empowered him.

He tossed aside the sword and it clattered across the rooftop.

"The gun too."

He jerked it clean and tossed it.

It didn't matter. It wasn't about weapons now. Not anymore. The thunder rumbled and the wind kicked up more rain. Down below, the sounds of fighting rose to echo on the wind.

"You didn't come alone."

Leon shook his head. "Not this time."

"It doesn't matter. I've done all I can for you. This is how it has to end."

"Yeah…this is how it has to end." He held his hands out, palms open, "Let her go, Ada. Just once, do the right thing here."

The rain converted to a steady pouring. Lightning split the sky and flashed, bright and close. Down below, gun fire peppered the air like fireworks.

Ada said, "For what it's worth, I wanted to love you. It seems some of us just aren't capable of that."

"That and a buck fifty might just be enough to get me on the subway. But otherwise, it doesn't matter a great deal. Let her go, Ada. Now."

"I've done what I can to repay some past mistakes. I let the game get ahold of me and made a few missteps. But I never intended to lose. Somehow I'm standing here the loser."

"So, make it right. Let Rebecca go."

Ada sighed, centering herself.

"Rebecca?" He called to her but kept his gaze on Ada, "You ok?"

"Yes. I'm not hurt. They told me you were dead. They told me you were gone. I knew they lied. I played it safe and close to the vest. I knew you would come."

He laughed a little and touched the cross on his chest. "Thanks to this."

"No. That's a symbol. The strength has always been in you."

Ada shoved Rebecca away from her, just like that. Rebecca ran toward him. He caught her, one armed, against his body and put her behind him. He wanted to hold her until he fell apart from it but he put her behind him.

And he faced the bitch in red.

Rebecca said, softly, "I have so many things to tell you."

"Me too."

Ada moved to the edge of the roof. "I have to go get Albert. This isn't where his story ends. But ours? I think ours ends today, Leon. Not how I wanted it to. But sometimes, we just have to take the ending we get."

"Ada! Don't!"

He started for the gun and she shot him. Just like that. She drilled him. The bullet drilled him in the chest plate and put him on his ass. He skidded backward from the impact. He felt like he'd been drop kicked by a buffalo.

"Stay down, Leon! The next one goes in your head!"

"You first, you bitch!"

He turned his head and saw Rebecca there, aiming his pistol at Ada. Thunder rumbled, crashing loud and infuriating. Lightning flashed, too close. He could all but hear it sizzle.

He rose to one knee.

Rebecca stood between him and Ada.

Ada tilted her head, studying her. "Little mouse. Don't be a fool. Think about what you're risking."

"Sometimes you have to risk everything."

"If you kill me, he'll still have been mine first. You can't erase me with a bullet."

"No but I can kill you with one. You don't get to run away this time. Not this time. It's time to face the music, Ada. Your dance is over."

Down below the fighting had gone silent. The good guys were dead or they were coming. And time was up.

"Stupid little fool. You die for nothing." Ada pulled the trigger. Two guns went off simultaneously in a flash of lightning. Thunder echoed the boom of it.

Ada Wong was clutching her throat. Blood pumped between her fingers as she staggered back. Shock was written all over her beautiful face even as she slipped and tumbled back into the darkness.

Leon rose and hurried to Rebecca. He couldn't believe that she'd done it. He grabbed her arm to turn her.

She turned and the gun slipped from her fingers. It bounced onto the stone beneath her with a clatter of metal. She grabbed at the hole in her chest.

"No…" He wasn't aware that he'd shouted it. He caught her as she fell forward and laid her on the roof. His gloved hands slapped over hers, putting pressure over the gushing wound. "No."

He said it again as if it would matter. The wound didn't seep, it poured. It gushed between his blocking fingers. He didn't realize he was saying no over and over again. He kept trying to stop the bleeding.

She grabbed his wrists and held him. "Leon…" The blood spilled from her mouth. "Stop. Stop it! Look at me, please, hurry."

"Hold on, ok? Just…" He glanced desperately at the sky for the chopper, "Where the fuck is the back up!?"

"They won't make it. Leon, they won't make it." Her voice whispered, "Please."

"Shh. Stop talking. Save your strength."

The good guys were on the roof now and running toward them. Jill shouted, "NO!" Chris slid to his knees beside her and jerked his shirt off. Leon stuffed it against he wound and leaned on it, hard. Rebecca coughed, pale now and cold. "Please…Leon…so much to tell you…"

"There's time! Hold on!"

The chopper was close now and getting closer.

"Leon…I love you."

"Stop! Please!" His face was desperate, lost, and broken, "Just hold on for me."

"You came…I knew you'd come. I need you to…have….faith."

"Don't…please. Don't. Rebecca."

But she was silent now and the air slipped once more, wet and weak, from her lungs. The chopper was right above them now. "Rebecca?" Her name was soft, a whisper.

The blood wasn't gushing now. He pulled her into him and sat up, holding her in his lap like a child. He rocked, making some sound that was so much worse than crying. It was the sound of grief that penetrates fast and hard. It was the sound of failure. It was the sound the soul makes as it breaks and scatters uselessly in the pouring rain.

Chris rose and turned away. Kevin turned away. Men, Jill thought desperately, supposed to be the strongest creatures on earth. But they couldn't stand in the face of Leon Kennedy's grief.

"Leon…"

Leon shook his head.

Jill knelt beside him. She touched his face. He turned his eyes to her. "Let go now. Leon? Let go."

He shook his head again.

"She's gone, Leon. Let me take her now. Let me take her."

His eyes turned down to her. Boneless, she lay in his arms. Her face was pressed against his chest and the cross that lay there. He started to shake, uncontrollably, like he had hypothermia. He kissed her and her mouth was cold.

The grief sank its teeth so hard into his throat he was pretty sure it would rip him open and spill his blood with hers all over the rooftop. Jill, feeling useless and lost, touched his arm and waited. He made a sound like a wounded animal and started weeping.

She'd thought there would be nothing worse than watching him fight his way back from the hammered mess he'd been. She was wrong. This…this was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen. His loss was so deep, so raw, and so wide that it drew blood where it cut, forcing you into his mourning with you.

A few long moments passed and the silence rose to surround them. There was nothing now but the pouring rain and the whir of the helicopter blades. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain washed the blood away in a pink river.

Chris turned back and crouched down. He grabbed Leon's forearm. The other man shifted his grip on Rebecca and grabbed him back. Their hands locked just at each other's elbows and held, hard. It was a boy hug when Leon needed a boy hug.

"Let me take her."

He opened his eyes. Two sets of blue. Two sets of grief.

Leon nodded and he let her go. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He let her go.

Chris lifted her, easily, bonelessly. He held her against him like she was precious and small. And she was. This tiny little girl who'd stood in front of him and protected him. He felt the loss in his bones, in his blood.

Leon shifted to his knees on the rooftop. His hands were still filled with her blood. Her blood was on his hands. He made some sound and Jill slid between his hands and put her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her and wept. He cried like he'd leave pieces of himself on the rooftop around them. He cried with his whole body, his whole being.

He ground his head at her neck and shoulder and she held him so tight she was pretty sure they'd both bruise from it. But she'd stay there, kneeling with him forever, if that's what it took. The rain eased back, a soft misty drizzle now against them.

Finally, he let her go. She eased back, looking at his face. "Are you ready?"

Was he? No.

But he got up anyway.

He got up.

Because Rebecca wouldn't have it any other way. So, he got up.

He looked at her, watching him in the rain. "Wesker?"

She shook her head, slowly. "One of those big fat Ganado grabbed him. We lost him in the fray. Ada?"

Leon stared off into the rolling clouds, breathing. He was breathing, so that meant he was alive. But he felt dead. He felt dead. Empty. "Rebecca shot her in the throat. She fell over."

"We'll have someone get her body."

He didn't care.

He shook his head and moved to the edge of the roof. He looked down. And he knew what he'd see when he did. He knew.

She wasn't there.

She wasn't splattered on the ground beneath them.

She wasn't dead.

And Rebecca had died for nothing.

…

Silver Lake, Montana 2017

Six Weeks Later…

He drank himself into oblivion. For three days, he wasn't sure who he was or where he was going. He was at the bottom of a bottle of Glen McKenna and it was good there and numb. He let it own him. He let the pain eat up his guts and rape him raw.

When he came up, throwing up on the side of the road, he picked himself up. She'd be ashamed of him if she could see him. Have faith, she'd said. I will always believe in you. She wouldn't believe in the mess she was seeing now.

He went back to the Ranch. He went back to birthing calves and raising horses. He walked into the office and laid his gun and his badge down on the desk of director. And he'd quit.

"Take some time, Leon, think about it."

"I don't need any time. I'm done."

And he went home.

The first two weeks, he wallowed. He worked without thinking. He stood alone in the evening and stared. He saw her everywhere.

She was in windows, in the street, in the store. She was on billboards and the television. She was in the shower, in the barn, in the air he breathed. He broke, more than once. He dropped a glass in the kitchen and cut his hand.

There was blood on his hand.

Her blood was on his hands.

He grabbed the sink and cried. He cried, alone in his kitchen, he cried like a baby. He turned, slid down the cabinets, wrapped his arms around his knees and cried like he was never going to get any better.

But somewhere, Rebecca was proud of him. Every tear, every pain, every gut wrenching moment of misery. She was proud. Because he didn't hide from it. He embraced it. He felt it. He raced toward it and hit it head long.

He took a baseball bat to his training ground.

He broke it down, beat it up. When that didn't satisfy, he doused it in gasoline and set it on fire. He stood over the burning carcass of his former self and watched it fry. The firelight reflected the raw pain in his bicolored eyes.

He cursed her name in the glow of the fire, "This is your faith!? You push your way into my life and now I can't shut this shit off!" He scrubbed a hand at his tear damp cheek, showing it to the beautiful night sky like she could see it. "I'm like a leaky fucking faucet! You think this is BETTER!? I was almost numb before you! How can feeling like a broken, bleeding, pathetic mess be better!?"

Six weeks into his misery, a big red truck rolled up his driveway. He watched it arrive and he felt her. He felt her there. Like the first time she'd rolled up his driveway.

Dressed in a flannel and jeans that were faded and old, he moved across his porch in the cool fall air. The truck rumbled to a stop over the crunch of falling leaves. He waited and Chris Redfield climbed out.

Chris wore a red sweatshirt and old faded jeans much like him. He wore cowboy boots beneath the jeans. He crossed the grass toward the porch.

Leon watched him come, waiting.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They shook.

They hesitated….they hugged. It was tight and painful. Chris thumped him on the back twice. Boy hugs were not girl hugs. They did not linger. They separated. The big, beefy, usually laughing other man looked like he might cry. So, he coughed instead.

Leon coughed too.

"You look ok."

Leon shrugged a little. "You look like shit."

Chris smirked. "Asshat."

They stood there a moment. "Listen, Leon…there's things you don't know about what happened in Germany. Things that…no one could really talk about. Things…shit."

Leon blinked at him and there was a tiny rub of humor that sneaked its way into his chest. "Things do shit. I have heard that. I think someone wrote a book about it once. Everybody poops? Great read. Sorta like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I don't want to ruin the ending for you…but somebody shits."

Chris laughed, hoarsely. That's what he wanted to come out here to see. He wanted to be sure that the man they'd knew was still in there. The bad jokes proved that he was indeed.

"Tell me you're doing ok."

Leon shrugged, staring off into the horizon. The setting sun cast orange and pink, red and yellow across the cloudless, perfect Montana sky. "I'm not dead. So, there's that."

"Brother, sometimes all you can do is just hold on until the scenery changes."

They locked eyes. And Leon nodded, gently. "Yeah. I'm waiting for that."

"It may change sooner than you think."

The other truck door opened and Claire got out. Something shook loose inside him like he'd been hiding it away to save for later. Leon moved passed Chris without realizing he was doing it. Claire was in a maroon leather jacket and a soft gray t-shirt. She saw him coming and moved as well.

He didn't run…but he wanted to.

She turned and saw him. They'd said he was different. She could see it, each line, each scar, each shadow. He looked like hell had chased him hard, caught him, beat the shit out of him, and left him for dead. And he was gorgeous. Perfect.

Her heart swelled seeing him. She loved him so much. In the whole of her life, she'd love three men. One she'd put in the ground when a drunk driver had taken him away. The other had stepped in to raise her in his absence. And the third…was moving toward her in an ugly flannel shirt. He had a dark beard started on his face. The hair was…it was very blonde. She'd forgotten, it seemed, that he was blonde. It was nearly strawberry blonde. It was short..er. It was shorter. It dipped over his forehead a bit but it didn't try to reach his chin, not yet.

The nose was a little crooked. The eyes were…something. But they'd…they'd told her he was dying. She'd gotten the call in the middle of the night. And something in her had nearly broken.

New York City, 2017

Jill called her, crying, "Claire…it's bad. It's really bad."

"What? What is it? What?" Claire sat up in bed, blinking rapidly. The covers slid down her body, showing her breasts to the cool night air. She always slept naked, since she'd been a little girl.

"It's really bad. They have Chris. They took him."

"Who? What?" Claire grabbed her watch and looked at the time. 2 a.m. Dear god in heaven. "Who has Chris?"

"Claire…Wesker has Chris."

The whole story poured out, rushed and desperate. And Claire was dressed and running toward the door before it was done. She felt the twin fangs of fear and panic in her as she broke protocol and used a company jet to make the trip to Germany.

She'd never run faster in her life than when she'd hit the ground. She was already working on locating Chris. She put in calls to everyone, anyone, everywhere. There were a hundred lines no one had tugged, she yanked them, harsh and quick.

The elevator doors had opened on the floor of the hospital and she hurried out. She turned a corner – and came face to face with the first time he coded. Someone was yelling, screaming. Nurses and doctors were everywhere. She froze in place, in horror.

Jill grabbed her out of the way as they brought the crash cart in. They were pumping on him and yelling. But that thing in the bed wasn't him. It couldn't be him. It wasn't even human.

And the two women turned to each other, sobbing.

She couldn't get the last time she'd seen him out of her mind.

Bostwick Dupot, Rittersburg Bavaria 2013

He'd come in a flight from Tatchi. The girl with him, Helena, was quickly escorted off to be debriefed. He was clean, it seemed, well rested and troubled by something. He kept rubbing the side of his neck.

He was in a simple green t-shirt and jeans. His hair was dark blonde and perfect. He looked dark, introspective…and then he lifted his head and saw her.

She was on assignment there for TerraSave. There'd been a lot of meetings with a lot of folks regarding the water cleanliness initiative she was spear heading in Africa. The timing had been perfect to meet up there and say hello.

The mess of the C-Virus was all over the bioterrorism network of contacts. It was a slew of confusing, fluctuating, messy reports. She went straight to the horses' mouth for answers.

He finished walking down the steps of the flight stairs and dropped the big duffelbag he was carrying. She waved at him and ran forward. They met in a hug, Claire laughing.

"Look at you! They said you got your ass kicked in Tatchi. You look amazing!"

"This is ass needs a good kicking from time to time. Claire," He cupped her face and grinned at her, "You look beautiful."

Claire struck a pose, pursing her lips. "It's the Redfield genes."

"It's the jeans alright."

She chuckled and looped her arm with his. There it was, she thought with a sigh, that little shiver in her for him. Was there a girl alive who wasn't in love with Leon Kennedy?

"Tell me everything."

He did. They shared a cup of coffee. And then two. He told her everything. The whole sordid tale of betrayal of infection and mad science. She shook her head, sipping her third cup. "Fucking Umbrella. Is there ever a madman who doesn't have delusions of grandeur?"

He took her hand and held it on the table. She linked their fingers, smiling.

"So, tell me about the boyfriend."

"That's a no go right now. No boyfriend. Too busy at work."

"I know the feeling."

They studied each other as people bustled around them. She loved the fine hairs on his forearm, smooth and soft. She loved the flash of his white teeth behind his lips. She loved the curve of a five o'clock shadow starting on his face. She'd wanted…desperately…to tell him she loved him in Harvardville. But there was always something that held her back.

He'd looked at her that night in the tent like he'd never known, even a little, that she was in love with him. Her kiss had shocked him. He'd touched her and there was nothing she'd wanted, more, in a long time.

But how did you tell your best friend in the world that you were in love with them?

She covered his hand with her other one, holding that contact. "God, I've missed you."

His smile was so…sweet. It was thrilled to see her. It was just…love. He loved her. It was written all over him. But it wasn't right. Had never been the right kind of love. It was love like buddies. Love like pals. It was platonic.

What if she'd pushed in Raccoon City? But something there too had held her back.

"Claire bear, I couldn't go a day without missing you."

They walked through the little town enjoying the shops. They had lunch together at a café. She linked their fingers and held his hand. He didn't even think of it. He never had. She was his Claire bear. She was his bestie. They had both gotten tattoos on the inside curve of his left and her right hand a few years before. Hers said "Keep" in a fine delicate scrawl, his said "Fighting" in a bold chicken scratch. It was their motto. It was what bound them together.

She walked him to the train station to say goodbye that evening. The train whistle blew loudly, signaling the arrival. She knew this train would take him away to whatever crisis awaited him. She ilooped her arms around his waist and held on. He kissed her forehead and held her.

"Kennedy, I think I'm going to ache a little when you go."

He dropped his cheek to her head and rocked her. "You should come with me. I'm going to Austria for a conference there. You should come with me."

She laughed, a little weepy, "I wish I could."

He pulled her back a little, wiping at her teary cheek. "Hey. What's this now?" He smiled at her. "What's the rule?"

"No crying when we say goodbye."

"You got it." Leon winked at her. "Show me that beautiful smile."

She smiled at him, a little watery. He chuckled and hugged her tight again. "Claire bear, it won't be that long until we see each other again."

"You always say that."

"True. But I hope it's true this time."

They separated as the train whistle blew again. He patted her bottom, friendly and harmless. He picked up his duffelbag. "No tears. Promise me."

"No tears." She lied.

He turned to move down the platform. "I'm gonna miss you, Claire. You know that!" He called it to her as he walked backward and then turned around to walk up the steps into the train.

The hustle and bustle of the train station shifted around her. She watched people say goodbye and come and go. She watched children and parents cry and hug. She hurried toward the door he'd disappeared into.

"Leon?"

The conductor stopped her, "Ticket?"

"No. I don't have one. I just…there's someone on here that I need to say one more thing to."

"Sorry, fraulein, no ticket."

"But…" Frustrated, she stepped back off the steps and called, loudly, "Leon? Can you hear me?!"

No answer.

She sighed and started back across the platform. She was a few feet away from the exit to the station when she heard it. "CLAIRE!"

She turned back, he was hurrying across the platform toward her. He was smiling and holding something in his hand. "I forgot to give this to you!"

It was a little yarn doll with dark hair and button eyes It had his hair. He handed it to her and grinned. "Japanese friendship dolls. This way…" He pulled hers from his pocket and showed it to her. It had bright red yarn hair. "…never without each other right?"

She clutched it, squeezing. "I love you."

It practically poured out of her mouth. She felt like she threw it up. It was word vomit. She couldn't hold it in.

He grinned wider. "I love you too. Always."

The train whistle blew again, loudly. He made a face and backed up, winking. "I don't think they'll wait for me. Do you? Be good Claire! Promise?"

She took two steps and ran at him. He laughed and caught her in a bone tight hug. "What's this now? You want me to miss my train?"

"Yes!" She held on, laughing, "Yes I do."

He laughed again.

The train whistle blew one last warning. She let him go.

Because she desperately wanted to hold on forever, she let him go. "See you soon." She whispered it and he waved, grinning and ran for the train. He leapt on it just it started chugging away from the platform. He leaned out, waving.

She hesitated, waited too long, and started chasing the train. "Leon!"

The window at his seat opened, his head poked out.

"Leon! I should have said yes!"

He couldn't really hear her over the roaring wheels and the engine. "What!?"

"I should have said yes!" The train took him away before she could finish. But she finished it, watching him disappear into the mountains. "I should have said yes that night in the tent."

…..

Silver Lake, Montana 2017

Claire ran. Hell, yeah she ran. She leapt a little and he caught her against him, feet dangling. He put his face in her neck and breathed her in. She cuddled him, aching in places that had no name.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered it, muffled, against his neck. He shook his head, held her tighter and rocked.

She kissed his ear, kissed his cheek, kissed his closed eye. She kissed his mouth, soft and gentle. He made some sound of pain and regret. He lowered her slowly to the ground. She cupped his face, looking at him.

On the porch, Chris Redfield had a moment of complete clarity. His sister was in love with Leon Kennedy. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, being her big brother. He let it digest.

"They said you'd lost your hair." Her voice broke a little, she skimmed his cheeks and the tears there, "They said you'd lost your eye. But I think…I think this look works on you."

"The hair will grow back," His voice was gruff and pained.

"Oh god I hope so!" She laughed through her tears, she fisted her hands in his flannel shirt. "Leon…I missed you so much."

He made sound of grief and she grabbed him, holding on. "How do I help you? Tell me, I'll do it."

"You're here. That's a start."

She put her hand against his face, "I need to give you something."

She turned back to the truck and opened the back door. He waited, hands in his back pockets. He'd missed her so much it was like raw pain in his gut. From the other side of the truck, Jill emerged.

She moved toward him, her short dark hair in a little messy ponytail behind her head. She wore a green hoodie with the Notre Dame logo on it. He turned toward her and she pulled him in.

Their foreheads touched. She held his face. He grabbed her biceps. He closed his eyes, holding her against him, and breathed. It was, for the first time, a little easier to do it. They said nothing, just stood there in the dying sun, holding each other.

On the porch, Chris had his second revelation of the day. He leaned on the railing, watching. "I'll be damned…"

Jill was in love with him too. Did the guy have pheromones that leaked off him or what? He must have a dick made of gold. Rebecca, Claire, Jill…Ada Wong. These women just fell all over themselves for the guy. In a way, he was super glad it wasn't him. That was a big fucking mess with no happy ending.

Jill opened her eyes and met his. "You need to be ready."

"For what?" He felt her fingers on his face and opened his eyes. There, he thought, there was the love that scared him. He shied away from it.

"Leon?"

He turned back to Claire…and the baby she held.

It was small and wrapped in a poofy pink blanket. It…she…was asleep and sucking her tiny fist. He glanced up at Claire's face, glanced at Jill beside him. Chris moved up to the other side. He looked between the three of them.

"I don't…I don't understand."

Jill grabbed his forearm. Chris held his gaze. "That's why we stayed. It's why I didn't run. Why Rebecca didn't run."

Something cold and painful was spilling through his stomach. He turned back to Claire. She nodded, crying softly. "It was Ada. It was Ada that showed me. It was Ada who let me go with her. Rebecca…she told me to take her. So, I did it. I took her and ran."

He said again, softly, "I don't understand."

Chris replied, quietly, "Yes you do."

The pain clawed up his guts and brought a sound from his throat. He glanced desperately between them. "I don't understand what you're saying to me."

Jill turned him a little toward her. Her face was calm, steady. It eased his panic a little. She cupped his cheek. "That is your daughter, Leon. Yours and Rebecca's. She is yours."

He turned back to the little pink bundle. She was awake now, watching his face. She was pink and soft, tiny, her blue eyes seemed wise beyond her years. Claire held her out to him.

He shook his head. He stepped back.

Claire looked stricken, "Leon…"

"No. Take her away. All of you just go away. Leave me the hell alone."

Chris took a step after him, "Leon, don't be stupid."

Leon turned around, all fury. "You come here…you show up…and you tell me what? That everyone was lying. That this…this baby is mine? That Rebecca had our baby in that filthy castle, alone, scared and then died to save my worthless ass? And what? WHAT!? She left me alone to raise a baby? Is that it?!"

No one said anything.

He shook his head at them. "Fuck you all. Get off my property."

He slammed the door to the house.

They all stood there for a long moment. Jill took the baby. "Go."

Chris and Claire hesitated. She nodded, "It's ok. I know what he needs. Go."

Jill took the baby into the house.

She put her in the little bouncy seat they'd bought for her. She then set about making dinner. She played with the baby while she cooked, tickling little toes and kissing her little mouth. He came down stairs some hours later and saw her.

"I told you to leave…and take that baby with you."

"No." Jill put a plate on the table for him. "Sit down and eat."

"Fuck that."

"Sit down and eat, you stubborn asshole. Or I'll kick your ass and make you."

Leon snorted and went back upstairs. Jill turned to the baby and sighed, "That's your daddy, little girl. But don't worry…he's mule headed, yes. But he's loyal and loving and very, very kind. He's always a coward. And afraid of a tiny baby. But we'll fix that."

She carried the baby and the seat up the stairs. She set them both on the floor of his bedroom. He came out of the shower a few minutes later.

Jill was sitting on the floor with the baby in her seat, playing with her toes.

"Are you deaf or stupid? I said get out."

He crossed to his closet to dress. Jill watched him, very aware of his ass when he jerked off the towel. And very aware of the anger.

She said, to the baby quietly, "That's your daddy, little girl. He sure is sexy. He sure is stupid about girls. But I'll you what…you'll be his favorite girl anyway. So, we'll fix that."

She rose as he came out of the closet in his jeans and a v-neck navy tee. "Damnit, Jill. Can't you take the hint?"

Jill nodded and moved toward the door. "Fine. I'll go."

"Wait!" He sounded a little desperate, "Take that baby."

She stopped, eyed him. And she loved him. It was painful. So very painful. Because she knew the haunting guilt of loving him would stay with her for a long time. But there was time for that. Plenty of time for that.

For now, this is what mattered.

"Nope. That's your baby. You take her. Pick up your baby, Leon. Hold her. Stop being a fucking coward. She won't bite. She won't blow up. She won't die on you!"

She watched the pain arrow into him. And god she loved him. It hurt her to hurt him…but he needed it. Sometimes you had to bleed out the poison to heal. "Don't you dare disrespect Rebecca by turning away her child. Pick up the baby, Leon. Stop being an asshole."

She walked out of the room. Two steps down the hallway she leaned against the wall and put her fist to her mouth. She held back the tears. She wanted to go back. She wanted to hold him while he died and cried and healed. But that wouldn't help him now.

This? This would.

In the bouncy seat, the baby started to fuss, clearly sensing her one ally had fled. Leon blinked at her as her little face screwed up in rage and she started bawling.

Fuck.

He glanced around for help but, of course, he was alone.

The baby wiggled, its cherub fatness was no desperately pissed off. She flailed her little fat arms. She was wearing a pink onesie with a picture of a cat on it. Her pink blanket was still tucked around her but she was mad enough that she was going to knock it loose any minute.

"Stop that now. I mean it. You'll get cold."

She sobbed and it broke something inside of him to hear it.

Leon made some sound of grief as he took the tiny pink bundle out of the seat. She went instantly silent. She watched him, silently sucking her fist. She had her mama's nose. Leon tucked her into his arm and ran his finger, hesitantly, over her cheek….and the baby smiled at him.

It was her mama's smile too.

He said, softly, "Oh my god…" And for the first time since Rebecca had died…he smiled. He was afraid the pain and the love that bloomed and filled up his chest would cause it to burst and spill his blood all over the tiny thing he held. He looked at her like she held the universe in one tiny fist. And maybe she did.

Maybe she'd always been the reason. Maybe she'd always been the thing that he was meant to do. Maybe this was what love made, what love created, what love left when everything else was gone. This. He'd never loved anything more.

He placed her in the bouncy seat and strapped her in, she watched him, looking into his soul. Would she find it lacking?

He picked up his guitar.

In the hallway, Jill froze, rooted to the spot. His voice was beautiful. It lifted, soft and soothing. What was that he was singing?

But, of course, it was Now and Forever.

Sometimes I just hold you, too caught up in me…I'm holding a fortune, that heaven has given to me…I'll try to show you each and every way I can..now and forever…I will be your man

That's your daddy little girl, Jill thought desperately, he's a little lost right now. He's a little broken. But I think you'll fix that.

The only question left was how she could help him do it. She figured maybe that answer was out there too. She moved into the doorway when the music stopped.

He lifted his gaze to her. That face…had she ever seen such love on a face before?

"Jill…what's her name?"

But, of course, he knew that answer. Of course, he did.

She answered him, softly, "Faith."

Yes. It couldn't be anything else.

He picked up the guitar again. The tears on his face were murder to her. She wanted to cross the room and pour herself over him and protect him from the pain of it all. Instead, she just listened.

When the visions around you, bring tears to your eyes…and all that surrounds you, are secrets and lies…I'll be your strength, I'll give you hope, keeping your faith when it's gone…the one you should call was standing here all along…and I will take you in my arms and hold you right where you belong…till the day my life is through..this I promise you…this I promise you…

The baby gurgled smiling.

I've loved you forever, in lifetimes before…and I promise you never..will you hurt anymore..I give you my word, I give you my heart…this is a battle we've won…and with this vow..forever has now begun…

The song ended. And he smiled at her.

The baby was mesmerized. Was there a woman alive who didn't love Leon Kennedy?

"Faith," He said quietly and picked her up. He held her up until they were eye to eye, "Will you be mine?"

But, of course, he knew that answer as well.

Yes.


	12. Absolution

XXIV. Epilogue:

Absolution

A Priori

"I'm gonna scrub this virus from the face of the Earth."

― Leon S. Kennedy, Degeneration

"More and more I find myself wondering if it's all worth fighting for. For a future without fear... Yeah, it's worth it."

-Chris Redfield, Resident Evil 5

"They're a disease on humanity, I want to find a cure. Like Chris, but he uses his brawn while I use my brain."

-Rebecca Chambers

"It's true that once the wheels of justice begin to turn, nothing can stop them. Nothing. The end of Umbrella is just a question of time."

-Jill Valentine, Resident Evil 3

" Umbrella? Just a giant cockroach that had to be stepped on."

-Claire Redfield, Code Veronica

::::::::::::::::::::::::TWENTY-FOUR:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Raccoon City - 2035

The hustle and bustle of the little cameraman was nearly lost under the excitement of the parade. Everywhere you turned, everywhere you looked - the happiness and the laughter swirled around excited faces in bright colors. Balloons were flown high and filled with helium and hope. Hugs and kisses dolled out by those who stood beneath the beautiful rebuilt clock tower and saw the signs of a new day.

The city, once a necropolis that had spread into a wasteland of disease and death, was a mecca of rebirth and development. Where once Umbrella had put their poison into the lifeblood of the city they'd brought to its premature conclusion, now they breathed fresh air into the fetid stench of its perverted legacy. Above the city, banners with the BSAA and Blue Umbrella symbols waved in unison, showing a united front against the plague of bioterror.

The war wasn't over.

But on this day? The battle was won.

In the chair, facing the pretty reporter with all her dark hair, the beautiful blonde crossed and uncrossed her legs.

She was tall, nearly five ten without heels and curvy in a way that drew eyes wherever she walked. She was laughing, from a face as flawless as it was young and delighted, with eyes the same shade as the sky that rolled cloudless and blue above her. It was hard to tell unless you knew her, but she when she laughed? It was her father's smile on her beautiful face.

The reporter shifted, drawing focus back to her as the camera started rolling, throwing the hologram all over the globe as it broadcasted their signal to the mainstream media and all through any outlet that wasn't currently occupied by coverage of the parade.

"Doctor, why don't you tell our viewers who you are? The world, it seems, has been waiting for this day for a long time."

The blonde shifted, laughing lightly, and she tossed the blonde of her hair over her thin shoulders. When she turned, it was her mother's profile that could be glimpsed from the crowd below.

"That's an easy answer, actually, of all the ones I can give you today. It's Kennedy. Faith Kennedy."

"Ah. JFK?"

"Not hardly." She laughed, crossing her legs in the red dress she wore, "Not hardly. My father wasn't the President. Although he served, I'm told, at his right side for a long time."

Acknowledging, the report nodded and cut the screen to footage from Raccoon City. It was hard, for the viewers and those who stood in the crowd and lived it, to remember the desolation of that night. That long night. And the legacy of terror and horror and death that had come with.

Faith watched it with the same eyes that had seen it a thousand times. At night, when she couldn't sleep, in college when she couldn't settle, in the lab when she couldn't give up.

The camera returned to her face and she said, "My Father is Leon Kennedy. One of the original survivors of Raccoon City, if you search that crowd today, you won't find him there. As you wouldn't have found him in crowds a thousand times over in the years since that night. He didn't make it to a lot of parades while he was trying so hard to save the world."

The reporter nodded and footage flashed again of Terragrigia. It showed Tall Oaks and the devastation there. It flashed on Harvardville and the struggles in the ESR. It flashed on her father - in the last interview he'd ever given - after he'd hung up his gun and retired for the last time.

Faith shifted her gaze and smiled, gently. "He had one goal, all his life from the moment he'd walked out of this city, to destroy the T-Virus and stop the infection - at the root, at the source, at the beginning."

She took the file that someone handed her. She laid it on the table between them.

And she said, "Some years ago, a vaccine was created. It was found to stop the T-Virus before implementation. It was the first line of defense against a weapon that Umbrella had spent so long synthesizing in the bowels of this city. It worked. It was brilliant. It was the brainchild of Peter Jenkins, a professor, a survivor...of no fame at all when the outbreak occurred. He could have run. He stayed and completed the first phase of the vaccine. Potent, it didn't just stop it, it killed it where it bled. Jenkins wasn't a geneticist...he was just a scientist. And he made "Daylight" to stop the dark. And he died in that lab instead of running."

Faith smiled at the whistles of respect from the audience. "He was an everyday hero, like the people who rescued his research and brought it into the light. Dr. Yoko Suzuki, who went on to spearhead the second phase of the T-Virus vaccine with Dr. Jenkin's research. Who ultimately helped WilPharma engineer the final product that was mass produced in later years to be distributed in third world countries where outbreaks occurred."

She leaned forward, earnestly now, "But that wasn't the answer. Not all of it. It wasn't good enough. In conjunction with the BSAA, my father and Chris Redfield," Again the hooting and the screaming, Redfield was no Jenkins. His name? Well known, "Along with Jill Valentine and the entire corporation of TerraSave headed by Claire Redfield, set out on the most important mission of their lives."

The reporter queried, "To distribute the vaccine worldwide?"

"No." Faith shook her head, "My mother, Rebecca Chambers, was nothing more than a scientist herself. She worked as a Professor at a Chicago University. She spent her time, not trying to figure out how to cover the world with a preventative, but how to CURE IT after the infection had set in."

She shifted. She smiled. "There was no stopping it before it happened, you see. There was only eradicating it after it hit. You can't stop terror, you can only find the best weapons to fight it and keep it from spreading."

A statement that sounded, entirely, like Chris Redfield.

"A handful of people," Faith mused, "A legacy of never giving up. It's what I came from. It's what I learned at the knee of. It's what I'm doing here today."

She pulled the necklace she wore and it snapped clean off the chain. Inside, the little spiral of pink, the little bubbles of something pretty and pink. And she said, "My Mother died before she could finish it. She died trying to find the answers she'd spent her whole life chasing. She died and left her research behind."

Her fingers closed around the vial, her voice shook, "She died and left me behind. And in her honor, in honor of my father, in honor of the people who just kept on fighting long after there was no hope left, I come here today with this. Nothing really right? A vial of nothing."

She tossed it on the table. The crowd was quiet. "A vial with the future. I graduated high school at fourteen years old. I spent the next four in a lab, night and day, night and day, night and day. Until I cracked Spencer's research like a broken mirror. One hundred and eighty-two days to rip apart the Ashford legacy and watch it burn. One hundred and eighty-two days to see James Marcus' face while I shoved his hard-earned eugenics research right up his very dead ass and put it in its overdue grave beside the Wesker Project."

She shifted, eyes flashing, "One hundred and eighty-two days of research to scrub the T-Virus from the face of the Earth."

She gestured to the table, "That's the answer. That's what my father fought for."

She trembled and closed her fist. "What Chris Redfield died for." And her voice choked up as she covered the tattoo of the legend she'd loved so much on the inside of her wrist. Never a legend to her. Just a man. A man who'd stood beside her on the morning before he'd died and told her, "Whatever else you do in this world - never stop fighting. When you stop? That's when the bad guys finally win."

And she'd whispered, "What if I'm not strong enough?"

He'd studied her, his hair a beautiful pewter, his weathered face that had been like a father to her all her life, and he'd answered her, in his simple way, "Strength isn't something you find in a gun, it's not a bullet. It's getting up when you've been knocked down so hard you can't even feel it anymore. It's getting up...and finding the faith you need to keep on fighting."

Faith shook herself, staring for a moment at the horizon where the clouds drifted by, gathering herself. She swiped the tear from her cheek, roughly...and she got back up, even though the pain of it never really ever went away. She just kept fighting.

"It's what my mother died running toward. What my Aunt Claire never stopped trying to protect the world from. What Jill Valentine lost years of her life to the hands of a madman to destroy. What the signs waving above this city are celebrating here today. The truth. The only one that matters. How do you stop a snake?"

She gestured, the symbol for Uroboros, the snake eating itself, the horror of it that never ended.

"You lop off its head. You keep on lopping off the pieces until its no longer a ring, but a single piece of blood and guts and nothing. And then? You wrangle what's left of it to the ground to shoot it full of this." Her hand shook, her voice trembled, "The cure. The thing my family chased their whole lives. I honor them today with it and what they lost, what they gave up, what they spent a lifetime fighting for: hope. With the vaccine, in conjunction with the international conglomerates that have jumped on board after initial testing proved successful, with the WHO and the world watching...we can stop it. We can cure it. We can see the end of a legacy of bioterror."

The crowd was cheering. They were whooping. It was a good day. It was a good place to stand, in the heart of the city that had tried to destroy the world.

A good place to stand, thought the man with her eyes, in the shadows of the stage watching the girl who saved it. He wasn't in the crowd. None of them were. The last three survivors of the longest night of their lives. The trio of strangers who'd made a family from hope and determination. The blonde who was turning silver, the redhead gone gray at her temples, the man with the shaggy hair the color of rich moonlight.

Valentine. Redfield. Kennedy. All three names of the original trifecta that had battled out of Raccoon City.

The absence of Chris and Rebecca was palpable between the three of them.

Age had erased all the signs of scared kids in a burning city. But it had left strength behind it. And bonded them together in the final place where they belonged.

He was finally standing where he'd always been meant to.

He was behind her. Where he belonged.

A good place - with the answer to a question he'd been asking for so long, he'd forgotten to see the truth that had always been right there. RIGHT THERE.

What was he fighting for? What was his purpose?

He'd nearly forgotten in all the years since he'd picked up the gun and started battling back against the dark. He'd nearly forgotten.

But she hadn't. She hadn't.

And so his purpose was finally clear. It wasn't meant to be him to wipe the virus from the face of the Earth. It was never his purpose.

It was hers.

The T-Virus was done.

With a little bit of luck. A little bit of hope. A little bit of help. The world would see the end of it soon enough.

The cure had been there all along.

Waiting it seemed, not for a hero, but for a little bit...of Faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Note:
> 
> Clearly, we see in this version, he's alive. As he was in the original. As we see his absolution come full circle. Never meant to be the one in the spotlight at all. Just a man who's purpose it was, at the end of it all, to stop the T-Virus. Not through bullets or blood, but through Faith. And redemption.
> 
> And hope.
> 
> Oy, it's a sad day for me. The end of it. In the first ending, I had her go up against Wesker for the end. But instead? I'll leave that to the reader to assume how it all went down. Personally? I know in my head it's how Chris met his death. In mortal combat with the big meanie in black. Finally, like Harry and Voldemort, neither could live while the other survived.
> 
> Full circle. And a fun ride. Hands down, the most versatile thing I've ever written (and I've written entirely original stuff from cover to cover).
> 
> Leon's absolution it seems. And mine.


End file.
